A **** grey day that froths away
and the clock stands stock still
nothing stirs the stagnant air
the stench of failure everywhere.

Stiletto's echo in the rising of the ghetto
streets wake,
who's going to make the first move?
take the first shot?
make the bomb site a building plot?

Opportunity is seen but seldom heard,
word in the 'hood
nothing is good
not the man
not his plan
but we can change it
get our **** together
stop thinking whether too
start thinking we can do.

The **** grey day still froths away,
bubbling underneath
hell's teeth
chewing on the fat
taking back that which is theirs
heirs to the
future.