there's blood dripping down
wipe it off
the wolves can smell it
from a hundred feet away

yeah, we are sons of *******
just some beat up strangers
in the streets
homeless
cigarette-bumming *******
asking for spare change
from gold stained hands

the cross they hang from
way up there
blocking the light
casting a shadow like
a ******* crosshair

they'll shoot us with
everything they've got
if we choose to stand in their way

how are you coping
up this week?

i guess we'll figure that out
when one of us does.