When the sun hides from the day
And all the evening superstitions are realized
The shadows start to crawl
Whispers fill the void
And we all start to feel the weight of the unknown
American graffiti cover these dirty walls
A homeless man profiteers from the change of blind men
Another starving artist folds up her work
And cries until the paint seeps off the canvass
Starving children are still just as ravenous
Empty eyes stare into the cold windows of Million-dollar man
His family dressed acutely in warmth
Never aware of the poverty beneath their beds
Rats feed upon the scrapings littering the sidewalk
Filling their stomachs with cold decadence
Somewhere, somehow
The trash of one man becomes another’s delicacy
Juxtaposed by time and fortune
Would the business man fit so comfortably in rags?
Would the rag man hang himself with the tie?