I wash my hair
The dirt is stripped away

Wet.

Rinsed down the drain into the sewer
Stinking sludge water waste
A homeless man leans down
Filling up his intellectual cup
Gutter filth rot glory
No wonder bums are crazy
Talking to mattresses, having imaginary riches
Someday

Makes me wonder what it's like deep inside
I could be imaginary
More than just one
Do I get the crazy out on paper?
Or down the drain when I wash my hair?