Someone young walks down the

Road trying their best not to crawl,

A stick over their shoulder with a bag on

The end, Satan comin’ from behind to call;

The rich mans money paved the path,

Made for their own sons and daughters to walk,

Buy our politicians and let the money ring,

Change our words and our right to talk;

The day breaks open and shoots the sun

Through the sky, the hours drop into history so fast,

Dip into the billfold with one dollar bill,

This is the last one, so make it last . . .

The door slams shut on our young ones dreams,

Born again from a dead mans luck,

Walk straight down on the right side of the

Road but watch behind for that speeding truck,

Fears flow with the water, don’t think for yourself,

Watch your step and don’t get stuck,

I’m so sick of life, sometimes it’s

No better than being dead;

I constantly talk to myself so

I won’t feel completely alone,

A rope on my leg standing next to the water,

The other end held fast to a sinking stone;

I walk away with hope in my eyes,

Power taken from a post-orgasmic dream,

A dead end stops me dead in my

Tracks, the illusion is real it seems;

Beauty is the beast, this stinking

Corpse defines my one-track vision,

A benefit from the medicine, replace

My anorexic heart with a deep incision;

They give enough just to make you sick

Then take it away so you wish you were dead,

Lay back by the river, their words lull you to

Sleep, in the morning you make a dead mans bed,

Try to learn from the wrongs of the past,

My lovers turn away from the love in my head,

For every wish I make, I wish you were dead,

You talk so much, you make me sick;

They try to tell me it’s a beautiful world,

Do everything right and you won’t go wrong,

Come inside and have a drink,

You’re welcome here but don’t stay too long;

You plunge your head in the river to

Take a drink but your mouth stays dry,

The wiseman tells you the answer to

Life and you walk away still wondering why;

A crown of roses sits on your head as

You ride naked down the street on a horse

And the businessmen carve up our country even

More while they’re playing golf . . . of course;

White on white, cry to the river and drink

The water to make your system pure,

Work all week and collect your check,

Don’t think of the future and the white mans lure,

Lay awake all night and your mood swings low,

Your dreams collide to make the day a blur,

These pills will someday make you dead,

But at least until then you won’t be sick.