What becomes of my soul
below fourteenth street?
Where does all my willpower go,
among the stench and heat?
The grittiness of curbside bums,
daily beckons me to always come.
To trip along the Avenue,
to run to where I lost my youth.
What becomes of all my needs,
below the sign that reads 14th?
Delancy's corner wracks my nerves.
To soothe them now is all I know.
Like a stalking cat,
I sneak along my way.
To hunt down the dealers,
(although I know that I'm thier prey)
Beneath smirking street lamps,
barely lighting my way,
down to a path of destruction,
death, doom, and dismay.
This road has been chosen by many,
A sick society that will always meet.
We who have lost our faith and crossed that line,
the one below,
Fourteenth Street.
Shdblgl
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