Streetside

From the corner is where it starts

Torn in half like a dollar bill

Happy mourners window heart is bitter still

Truth's fictions stranger than any lie

Smooth convictions danger plan of twisted night

Does the pope shit in the wood?

He might be damned

Hoarding all his ill-got goods with Uncle Sam

Greener grass on the comfort side your easy choice

I'm leaning fast into the twisted night

One voice

At the bottom's where it ends

No between, catch life's riddles fates winds send

Depraviteam so low, it's been real

A total fiend, by his hand a lonely man

Looking for a streetside queen