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