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#streets
pennies rattle the can silent paper notes flutter -from hand to hand. the market place where many dreams -come to die. a cold pavement for a bed -the blind pass by. blinded by self-regard forever pointing out -the scapegoat.
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Feb 8
Feb 8, 2026 at 9:51 AM UTC
the scapegoat
The vestiges of slavery methodically remain. Blacks are being killed in broad daylight daily. Blacks are discriminating against systematically. Systemic racism is a cancer with a behemothic pain. The symbols of slavery refuse to evanesce like A shameful cloud lazily hovering over our head. There is too much hypocrisy around the sad bed, And too many racist tail-waggers are ready to attack. Too many unwell uncle toms are not emancipated. This is still a highly peculiar world. People don't mean What they mean and many impostors can't be trusted. The struggle must continue. Fights are never clean. Backstabbing is prevalent. The injustice is unbearable. Life is precious and priceless and yet hope is inevitable. Copyright © June 2020, Hébert Logerie, all rights reserved. Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
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Jan 24
Jan 24, 2026 at 1:48 PM UTC
The Vestiges Of Slavery
It is thy love for a concrete street. A haven of sorts. A home to the weeds of the garden of life. For I grow in the cracks of your floor, gaining perspective from those who have endured the process of fruition. I must survive this love of mine, for the street would be the death of me.
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Dec 9, 2025
Dec 9, 2025 at 8:35 AM UTC
Streets
I am one who knows the streets that run through the shabby houses and abandoned warehouses of my hometown ravaged by depression. I sift daily through the shambles of that nearby ghost town, stifling mind and body's urge to stiffen in its own grip as I take my daily hobble down the straight and narrow driveway of a quick fix ambition to the neutral, tarnished armored messenger standing by the roadside, holding high his red flag lifted as a sort of triumphant battle cry or a sign of warning. I approach this messenger with hope of receiving the promise of yet another Golden Age boom. But I know more so the wooded paths gliding aimlessly amid fallen needles of pine which repress unwanted but necessary undergrowth; and the cheering leaves of the slight wistful poplars spiteful diverting of my attention away from the strong and silent oak. I kick up leaves in defiance of the fallen leaves of a soul in a midsummer's dream of a soul covered by a deceivingly comforting white shawl of a slow- creeping season. I once strode proud and tall down and through these streets and roads, paths and meadows, winding and stretching deeper into the summer of a clear-sighted tomorrow. I am now slightly bent with a walking stick of experience, hobbling down and through streets and roads, paths and meadows, dense thickets and swamps, winding and stretching deeper into the autumn of a somewhat dim-sighted tomorrow.
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Nov 25, 2025
Nov 25, 2025 at 9:00 AM UTC
I Am One Who Knows The Streets
The doors of the churches and the schools are closed. No decent people are on the streets, Where we see sad crimes and horrible abuses. Many windshields are broken by badly thrown stones. Violence rains in the streets and in the corridors; No dogs or cats dared to vent outside. A few meager birds, on the branches, stare with disdain And amazement several thugs and charlatans with masked faces. It is sad to see these heinous crimes. How awful! There is a hostile war? One wonders which party will win? We can hear the voice of an old man coming somewhere Who shouts faintly, "We are all poor victims, sad tramps, Who are committing suicide for bad politicians, for misers. " Not too far, we can see a crazy woman with a close friend, Both in rags. It's a nightmarish image that proves That the country has become a hell on earth. On the radio, they say That some ships of the United States Navy are in the harbor. What are they doing on our territory? We flee, Or we do not flee? We cannot. Everyone is in prison. Violence snows blood on the streets of a tropical country, where fear Reigns. Children do not dare to play in the streets, where terror Hisses like snakes, like machine guns of the enraged demons. No war is civil or civilized; war among the same people is also violent And nefarious. My God, things are very bad in the streets nearby. Violence is raining and everyone is crying. Victims are everywhere at bay, Waiting for the arrival of the good angels, who shall come perhaps in a few months. Copyright © June 2019, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved. Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry. This is a translation of the poem La Violence Pleut Dans Les Rues by Hebert Logerie
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Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 8:27 AM UTC
Violence Rains In The Streets
The doors of the churches and the schools are closed. No decent people are on the streets, Where we see sad crimes and horrible abuses. Many windshields are broken by badly thrown stones. Violence rains in the streets and in the corridors; No dogs or cats dared to vent outside. A few meager birds, on the branches, stare with disdain And amazement several thugs and charlatans with masked faces. It is sad to see these heinous crimes. How awful! There is a hostile war? One wonders which party will win? We can hear the voice of an old man coming somewhere Who shouts faintly, "We are all poor victims, sad tramps, Who are committing suicide for bad politicians, for misers. " Not too far, we can see a crazy woman with a close friend, Both in rags. It's a nightmarish image that proves That the country has become a hell on earth. On the radio, they say That some ships of the United States Navy are in the harbor. What are they doing on our territory? We flee, Or we do not flee? We cannot. Everyone is in prison. Violence snows blood on the streets of a tropical country, where fear Reigns. Children do not dare to play in the streets, where terror Hisses like snakes, like machine guns of the enraged demons. No war is civil or civilized; war among the same people is also violent And nefarious. My God, things are very bad in the streets nearby. Violence is raining and everyone is crying. Victims are everywhere at bay, Waiting for the arrival of the good angels, who shall come perhaps in a few months. Copyright © June 2019, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved. Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry. This is a translation of the poem La Violence Pleut Dans Les Rues by Hebert Logerie
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29
Les portes des églises et celles des écoles sont fermées. Aucune personne décente n'est en effet dans les rues, Où l'on voit que des crimes abjects et des horribles abus. Plusieurs pare-brises sont brisés par des pierres mal lancées. La violence pleut dans les rues et dans les corridors; On ne voit ni les chiens, ni les chats en dehors. Des maigres oiseaux, sur les branches, avec dédain et stupeur, Regardent plusieurs voyous et charlatans au visage masqué. C'est triste de constater ces crimes odieux. Quelle horreur! Il y a une guerre hostile? On se demande quel parti va gagner? On peut entendre la voix venue d'un vieillard de quelques parts Qui crie faiblement: « Nous sommes tous des pauvres victimes, Des clochards, qui se suicident pour des politiciens, pour des avares. » Pas trop **** on peut voir une femme folle avec un ami intime, Tous deux en haillons. C'est une image de cauchemar qui prouve Que le pays est devenu un enfer sur la terre. A la radio, on dit Que quelques bateaux de la Marine Américaine se trouvent Dans la rade. Qu'est qu'ils font sur notre territoire? On fuit Ou on ne fuit pas? On n'en peut pas. Tout le monde est en prison. La violence neige de sang dans les rues d'un pays tropical, où la peur Règne. Les enfants n'osent pas aller jouer dans les rues, où la terreur Siffle comme des serpents, comme les mitraillettes des démons. Aucune guerre n'est civile et celle d'un même peuple est aussi violente Et diabolique. Mon Dieu, les choses vont très mal dans les rues avoisinantes. La violence pleut et tout le monde pleure. Les sinistrés sont partout aux abois. On attend l'arrivée des bons anges qui viendront peut-être dans quelques mois. Copyright © Juin 2019, Hébert Logerie, Tous droits réservés. Hébert Logerie est l'auteur de plusieurs recueils de poésie. Tuesday, June 18, 2019
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Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 1:12 AM UTC
La Violence Pleut Dans Les Rues
Les portes des églises et celles des écoles sont fermées. Aucune personne décente n'est en effet dans les rues, Où l'on voit que des crimes abjects et des horribles abus. Plusieurs pare-brises sont brisés par des pierres mal lancées. La violence pleut dans les rues et dans les corridors; On ne voit ni les chiens, ni les chats en dehors. Des maigres oiseaux, sur les branches, avec dédain et stupeur, Regardent plusieurs voyous et charlatans au visage masqué. C'est triste de constater ces crimes odieux. Quelle horreur! Il y a une guerre hostile? On se demande quel parti va gagner? On peut entendre la voix venue d'un vieillard de quelques parts Qui crie faiblement: « Nous sommes tous des pauvres victimes, Des clochards, qui se suicident pour des politiciens, pour des avares. » Pas trop **** on peut voir une femme folle avec un ami intime, Tous deux en haillons. C'est une image de cauchemar qui prouve Que le pays est devenu un enfer sur la terre. A la radio, on dit Que quelques bateaux de la Marine Américaine se trouvent Dans la rade. Qu'est qu'ils font sur notre territoire? On fuit Ou on ne fuit pas? On n'en peut pas. Tout le monde est en prison. La violence neige de sang dans les rues d'un pays tropical, où la peur Règne. Les enfants n'osent pas aller jouer dans les rues, où la terreur Siffle comme des serpents, comme les mitraillettes des démons. Aucune guerre n'est civile et celle d'un même peuple est aussi violente Et diabolique. Mon Dieu, les choses vont très mal dans les rues avoisinantes. La violence pleut et tout le monde pleure. Les sinistrés sont partout aux abois. On attend l'arrivée des bons anges qui viendront peut-être dans quelques mois. Copyright © Juin 2019, Hébert Logerie, Tous droits réservés. Hébert Logerie est l'auteur de plusieurs recueils de poésie. Tuesday, June 18, 2019
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29
Flashing speeding lights The city streets bathed in neon Our hearts tied as one
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Sep 7, 2025
Sep 7, 2025 at 2:19 PM UTC
Lights
You used to be my best friend, now its like i never existed. I used to be your best friend now its like you never existed. Thanks for the help dad i try not to be mad but knowing you choose drugs, Burglary living on the streets Over a relationship with me. makes me wonder why I'm not good enough.. You don't even have to give that up. Just wish you'd call and say what's up. Do you sleep peacefully? Is there any guilt or remorse when you think of me? do you even realize what you did to me when the personal creator who birthed me Tragically departed the earth early only two weeks after turning 18. You were nowhere to been seen searching for your teen. Her heart she let open bleed at that fateful scene. But if you're wondering, I'm alive and occupied, attempting to mend These shattered dreams of mine I don't despise. But I do wonder why I was a sweet young girl taking on a new lonely world. You'd be proud to know, i conquered it great with no supports and did what it takes to adapt and outlast. Forced to mature too fast i forgive as a daughter, but as a father i can never understand abandonment as your plan thus forfeiting being a man. Grieving you, but your not dead Your lost in your head. Eighteen - supposed to be when my life started.. But everything i loved, departed. Grieving a mother Wondering what happened to my father Its not fair to me, nor to the men i meet, that i want them to fill the emptiness that you could easily complete. I run when I feel love. I'm terrified to open up. For they may take it and run I will do me. You do you. Once i fully make peace with the truth I can be the me that was free and full of life before you disrupted my upbringing ------ Now I'm 28. I've processed the pain And I'm done playing   the waiting game. I no longer wish for you to care. To be there. I accept what is here. Ive had many nights Where I wasn't alright Flashbacks arrive The little girl wonders why. But, I did something different this time As I seen her in my brain I allowed the pain. Drop out of my mind And into my body. Experienced fully. Hyperventilating,   body convulsing Hardly breathing I finally let my body feel the pain I felt was real. I never allowed it. So I never healed. The inner child, She had to die So I can mature And start to raise my standards high. 1/3/26
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Jul 16, 2025
Jul 16, 2025 at 4:00 PM UTC
Thx dad
You used to be my best friend, now its like i never existed. I used to be your best friend now its like you never existed. Thanks for the help dad i try not to be mad but knowing you choose drugs, Burglary living on the streets Over a relationship with me. makes me wonder why I'm not good enough.. You don't even have to give that up. Just wish you'd call and say what's up. Do you sleep peacefully? Is there any guilt or remorse when you think of me? do you even realize what you did to me when the personal creator who birthed me Tragically departed the earth early only two weeks after turning 18. You were nowhere to been seen searching for your teen. Her heart she let open bleed at that fateful scene. But if you're wondering, I'm alive and occupied, attempting to mend These shattered dreams of mine I don't despise. But I do wonder why I was a sweet young girl taking on a new lonely world. You'd be proud to know, i conquered it great with no supports and did what it takes to adapt and outlast. Forced to mature too fast i forgive as a daughter, but as a father i can never understand abandonment as your plan thus forfeiting being a man. Grieving you, but your not dead Your lost in your head. Eighteen - supposed to be when my life started.. But everything i loved, departed. Grieving a mother Wondering what happened to my father Its not fair to me, nor to the men i meet, that i want them to fill the emptiness that you could easily complete. I run when I feel love. I'm terrified to open up. For they may take it and run I will do me. You do you. Once i fully make peace with the truth I can be the me that was free and full of life before you disrupted my upbringing ------ Now I'm 28. I've processed the pain And I'm done playing   the waiting game. I no longer wish for you to care. To be there. I accept what is here. Ive had many nights Where I wasn't alright Flashbacks arrive The little girl wonders why. But, I did something different this time As I seen her in my brain I allowed the pain. Drop out of my mind And into my body. Experienced fully. Hyperventilating,   body convulsing Hardly breathing I finally let my body feel the pain I felt was real. I never allowed it. So I never healed. The inner child, She had to die So I can mature And start to raise my standards high. 1/3/26
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105
I saw in the streets — dead people walking; (tiptoeing...) They’re not deceased, nor are they alive. I saw in the streets — that desperate hustle; (grinding...) They’re not hungry, nor are they satisfied. I saw in the streets — the filthy rich and the poor; (begging...) They’re not affluent, nor are they the ******* I watched, and wondered — am I one of them too? I saw in the streets — the appetite for more; (hungry...) They’re not content, nor are they dissatisfied. I saw in the streets — dead people walking; (tiptoeing...) They’re not deceased, nor are they alive. No one’s screaming, but I still hear the sirens — As they pick up the dead people walking.
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Jul 1, 2025
Jul 1, 2025 at 11:25 AM UTC
Dead People Walking
Cut the Music, let the Nights play – Resting my mind in the tune of Your sweet voice Cushions and songs; the city lights Purr Always so Curious about what happens in its Streets – like a cat at any twitching thing            As I searched for the key to all her lost dreams; Tears in their place, those Girls lost in city streets The Room was messy, a light bulb barely flickered In the dark nobody sees your tears, Your forced smiles Yet, we always know that silhouette touch of a body Sadly, curiosity seduced Me; loneliness consumed Me Gentle perfume pulled me inside, to Sweetened eyes My cold heart was Searching, that it sank in warm music Under the Canopy shade of covered sheets, vowing never _To leave –_
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Jan 24, 2025
Jan 24, 2025 at 4:19 PM UTC
late nights
It's hard to understand, unless you've been there. There is a pull to the streets. I can't count how many dead end jobs I've held—how many roach infested rooms I've crashed in. The inevitable day comes when I tell the boss, 'Fuck You, I don't need this **** ' I walk out into the misty afternoon—I look left, then right. I drowned out thoughts of the future with a cheap pint of ***** I see one eye George on my travails, he's half-lit—living in the woods. 'Don't let the ******** get you down.' He says, as he stumbles by bent, and taking a standing eight count. Mickey the ****** stops me a block from my flop-house. 'Tommy boy, I'm sick…gotta a couple of bucks so an old drunk can get well? ' I slip him a five. He says with a tear in his eye, 'God bless you Tommy—you know I had it all, I'm afraid the streets own me now.' 'Keep your chin up' I say as I plummet down the street, pretending tomorrow is a decade away. I climb the three flights of stairs to my room, slip the key in the lock, turn the knob—it opens. 'I love these little miracles' I say under my breadth. My three-legged cat Walter saunters up to me—he's white with marmalade splotches. He does his best to rub up against my leg—I pet his matted fur. I passed out in an alley one night, and woke up to Walter lying next to me. I think something crawled into my ear and made a home, it's been there ever since. I crash down on my chair, and watch Walter scratch at the door with his one front leg. He hasn't been neutered—he gets the pull of the streets. I let him out and take a long swig of the vodka—the potion does its magic. Life doesn't look so bad, there will be other jobs, and I still have two weeks left in this dump of a room. A writer needs four walls—yet there is always the pull of the streets.
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Jan 21, 2025
Jan 21, 2025 at 2:24 PM UTC
The Pull of the Streets
It's hard to understand, unless you've been there. There is a pull to the streets. I can't count how many dead end jobs I've held—how many roach infested rooms I've crashed in. The inevitable day comes when I tell the boss, 'Fuck You, I don't need this **** ' I walk out into the misty afternoon—I look left, then right. I drowned out thoughts of the future with a cheap pint of ***** I see one eye George on my travails, he's half-lit—living in the woods. 'Don't let the ******** get you down.' He says, as he stumbles by bent, and taking a standing eight count. Mickey the ****** stops me a block from my flop-house. 'Tommy boy, I'm sick…gotta a couple of bucks so an old drunk can get well? ' I slip him a five. He says with a tear in his eye, 'God bless you Tommy—you know I had it all, I'm afraid the streets own me now.' 'Keep your chin up' I say as I plummet down the street, pretending tomorrow is a decade away. I climb the three flights of stairs to my room, slip the key in the lock, turn the knob—it opens. 'I love these little miracles' I say under my breadth. My three-legged cat Walter saunters up to me—he's white with marmalade splotches. He does his best to rub up against my leg—I pet his matted fur. I passed out in an alley one night, and woke up to Walter lying next to me. I think something crawled into my ear and made a home, it's been there ever since. I crash down on my chair, and watch Walter scratch at the door with his one front leg. He hasn't been neutered—he gets the pull of the streets. I let him out and take a long swig of the vodka—the potion does its magic. Life doesn't look so bad, there will be other jobs, and I still have two weeks left in this dump of a room. A writer needs four walls—yet there is always the pull of the streets.
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59
Alone sits the tower's bell, In the glow of lantern light. Looking out at the town, Silently gazing upon the night-fell streets. Every day, the elders yearn to hear it ring again, They want to hear the sound they know. From their childhood, they remember, What it was like to hear the bronze ring echo. Yet, the children, Don't have a chance to forget.
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Jan 15, 2025
Jan 15, 2025 at 4:19 PM UTC
The Bell Tower At Night
About an abandoned city, where the wind is the only inhabitant, knocking on windows and singing through the empty streets.
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Dec 23, 2024
Dec 23, 2024 at 4:45 PM UTC
The wind-whispered city
These ole' Ghetto streets You got beef?? then bring the heat, Don't make this an issue, I might just diss you, When You living in the hood, and you wish a n**** Would!! Aye, you good??? Everything's Aiight!!! Aye, Ya'll cool??? Yeah we tight???, Trash all over the place, it's just a sin and a shame it's such a disgrace, Get outta my face, or Imma put you in your place, Don't make a sound, not even a peep, Can't keep your mouth shut, then take several seats, It's about to go down, IN THESE OLE' GHETTO STREETS!!! B.R. Date: 10/29/2024
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Oct 30, 2024
Oct 30, 2024 at 3:34 PM UTC
These Ole' Ghetto Streets
do you remember when all that mattered was holding his hand and smelling the sun on his sunburnt skin laid on sun-set sand do you remember when the only song you knew was his second name and now the only dance your feet understand is a stance with his toes can you take me back the night i cried like how lampposts died asking myself why your moon only shines when you speak of his smiles could you take me back to sun-screened streets where all that mattered were our touching feet
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Feb 1, 2024
Feb 1, 2024 at 4:50 PM UTC
Sun-screened Streets
You've had this thought before The flowers on the window sill The distant sound of a radio The streets The grass The stars The sky's dome above your head Everything is normal on Earth Exactly as it is now Look up at the sky God is in his heaven God is in his heaven A god who's very very silent Home awaits A beautiful serene place Of mystery And peace The one thing you will never find again All the love and patience of your friends The tenderness you feel You no longer live there Those times are gone And so are those people Why did you come here? Why are you still here? You don't know The freedom of finality That's all you have now The great see-through world All things bright Only you remain You against the nothingness It's not fire It's not ash Everything is calm You can only sense the shape of it A pit opening up in your stomach A blank space With no point of reference Something that has always been there A new reality Barely out of sight Where only one type of motion is possible The motion of a human throat swallowing A throat into which the world will vanish What strange words to celebrate a new world No cities No oceans No mountains You can breathe now And finally
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Dec 14, 2023
Dec 14, 2023 at 6:09 PM UTC
Clinging To The Collapse
Pretty Cat, Kitty Cat. U stole My Heart, this morning. Pretty Cat, Kitty Cat. Let's watch the Stars burning. Pretty Cat, Kitty Cat. Where did u learn to purr? Pretty Cat, Kitty Cat. You're a Kitten fully of fur. Pretty Cat, Kitty Cat. Your Heart, was Once My Home. Pretty Cat, Kitty Cat. Don't in the streets, U Roam. Pretty Cat, Kitty Cat. Who, let the Dogs out? Pretty Cat, Kitty Cat. Why do U make me Shout? 🤭
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Nov 18, 2023
Nov 18, 2023 at 8:46 AM UTC
Pretty Cat, Kitty Cat
There was a guy Who always felt like He could just slide through All of the days, Riding a high, feeling Like he could just Shuffle the haze, They thought him crazed; They called him Teddy, And this guy was ready To help you let everything out! A piece and a quarter, It's all you let over, And he would just rise up And shout! Said "I'm Teddy xans, so Give me your hands, And let me show you What it's 'bout!" I told him, pass me A couple of bars, Let me raise up To the level you're on, Pass me the liquor, Let's crash us some cars, End up with flex, So what's coming next? He was perplexed, Said 'what does that Make us?' I said "relax, dude We're just from Texas;" He said "go on,  we've got Time to spend,",  I said "I'm halfway dead, Old friend," He said "no worries, We're not in a hurry, Just rack em' and Stack em' , and let em' Be buried, Your wants,  your needs, Your life in the streets." I asked him,   "So what does that Make me?"
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Aug 27, 2023
Aug 27, 2023 at 12:28 AM UTC
Teddy Xans
Outside on the city streets the wail of sirens But me! I'm not concerned 'Cos I got ***** ***** made of Iron Yeah! ***** of Ire..Ron, ***** of I-Iron!!!🎵🎶🎵 Hey Mister I ain't a Boy and I ain't your Son Me! I'm just a... I'm just an Angel without a gun.
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Jun 4, 2025
Jun 4, 2025 at 6:47 PM UTC
Listening to Bruce (Springsteen) again
There are Streets that cry, Bleed and sigh, ******* with you, Til' you can't Sleep at night... Streets that you Feel like can Read your mind, Streets that you Just can't Leave behind. There are Streets that cry, Bleed and sigh, Filled with the People who just Breathe and die, There are Streets that cry, Bleed and sigh, And streets that You never want To leave behind...
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Apr 29, 2023
Apr 29, 2023 at 7:51 PM UTC
Streets that Cry
You don't know me. I don't know you. You pass by me, Every day, On the crowded streets. You say hello; I say goodbye. You serve me food, Ring up my beer, Tax my cigarettes. I give you money, And your life goes on. We see each other often. But you don't know me...
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Apr 22, 2023
Apr 22, 2023 at 3:57 PM UTC
You don't know me...
I've felt the cold, Of winter midnights. The things you see, Upon the streets. I've lived through guns, So many fistfights, And all the things They did to me... It ain't the same, Every morning... Somebody new Wakes up as me... And I don't know, Just where I'm going... All I know, Is that I'm free! There are no chains! Upon me! There are no chains! Upon me! Well, I can see, The stars now, And I know what lies Beyond... Cause only glory Waits for me there, And all the things, Of which I'm fond... Another glass you Raise to me! For when I'm dead, And when I'm gone... But you remember What I say,  now! Cause we'll be friends Long when we're gone... And I can see it... That gray day. And I can smell it! That horrible rain! But I don't feel it... There's no more pain. And nothing, Will ever be the same...
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Dec 7, 2019
Dec 7, 2019 at 9:48 AM UTC
Broken man Blues