This wordy run is not meant to be read all soft-spoken
I people watch out my windows — every bodies broken

I see a young guy meth pipe pressed to his lips — he's choking
I see a few underdressed girls, counting tips — they're stroking
I see an old gal, sore in the hips, cocaine on her brain
I see many people who feel they have nothing to gain

I see a man, he’s in withdrawal, he doesn’t look okay
I see shopping carts tall with possessions rotting away
The item owners are rotting too — they look halfway dead
I'm sure I went to preschool with that one — his name is Fred
I heard he had a daughter and a son a few years back
Right before he lost his wife...