Down on Their Luck

If they weren't already dead they'd just want to die Here's to a living grave in which they lie Knowing things that no one needs to know They're walking with no place left to go Left with a handful of broken tools The streets got them wandering like fools A full dumpster can't keep him fed Living where I hear all the voices in his head A lot of stories written on his face He's got a lot of stories for never leaving this place His skin is gray and dim She was a bigger mess than him He had to leave her On the streets he caught cabin fever He chose the wrong time when he felt her She thought he had a home but he's living in a shelter He tells his tale and he reflects About the good old days in the projects Telling all the losers down on their luck Shouting to the world, he just doesn't give a fuck There's no one on the other end of that phone He's got an audience but he's all alone He can't hear his own voice but he knows what you're saying There's no other role he could be playing Things that don't add up, things that have fallen apart Their life's not much different than their shopping cart...