it smell's like piss and there is a old drunk
wacthing me from a coner, sitting in his high and mighty spot
in the gutter.
He glare'a at me as i pass by
poor little thing, so deluded he think's
that i in my flash brought cloth's is the scum
sitting in my privet house wacthing the world pass by..
wile he live's of the earth and in a bottle, how could
i posable disagree...
Dispite the fact my coth's came off a dead man's back,
that i killed with my own two garyish hand's..
I can still see the image in my mind..
A lifless face stare's at a brick wall, a trickle of dried blood
flaking off his forhead leaving a red stain underneth...
there was once a pool of freash body floid underneth him..
now he just lay's there wearing nothing but his under cloth's..
It wasn't a cold killing...
It was a way of life killing to my life style what i did wasn't
wrong, i needed the cash and the cloth's was just luck, I don't see
lady luck much, that's way i never waste what she offer's me ...