Know I owe it all
To one I ought to owe
Saw it big and small
By now I ought to know

It’s lamppost gutter street people
Who knew the sacred home
Poor and on the street
They’re victims of defeat
Who knew they’d make a home
With purple hazel nut bones

Utter hogwash becomes
Poetry of the mad
Silent asphalt cushions the bums
Tear trails from the sad

Too bad
For the mad
So selective
Could’ve had
Hope
We gotta cope
Stick it out
You’ll break the code