The walk home smells of wet pavement
Shouts of beggars, through the quiet mumbles weather
The lights turn green and red, the screeching loud lament that was only audible for a second
He must not have seen it coming, the whole sight was really something
His twisted metal, his wrecked ghetto, his quiet glass cave in.
I wish I was in the way, that his own would have a stay.
His lucky life is all at bay and my ****** life is still here to stay. But, his screeching t bone would find him his new, eternal home while I’m stuck in my own. I wish that I was in his way. His wife, his kids, his house, his dog.
The wail of sirens are on their way,
The poor and the passing are over longing their stay.
He’ll be missed, I’m sure he’ll be missed every day
The only thing I’d be thought of is life insurance pay.