It's a voyage through snitch alleys.
Where dirt paints our knees.
A life operating through a metal jungle.
Low beds, smell of evil, the life I live.
Smoke of poverty, government shovels.
That's all I see.

Living at the edge of winter cold.
Frozen ice, dry tears condense in shame.
My life leaning, rusty and old.
My shelter, roofed both sides.
Rats vacations and parties turned...