a meat wagon in the shadow of a tenement blocknyou got the pigs up in the stairwellnasking questions and taking down namesni say that boy had a mean streakni aint trying to be mean nhes just easy to hatenhe had a spike in his veins for a number of yearsnits all cold memory nownhe tells me that he has gone cleanna black white tv set up the back of his headnthat shatters and shuttersnbut wont never go deadnnthat boy had it downnholier than thounthough he was dumber than a bag of hammersni didnt knownhed pull the triggernwith his left big toennwell he shaved off his hairnleaving only the eyes in his headnand a hole for a mouthnthat looked more like an asshole i swearnhe never had no family hed sit up on the ledgenstaring up at a moon that died in the nights armsnto keep watch like a ghost on his heartnin its throws and its calmsnnwell it aint how you fall its how you landnid remind him...'life has its lessons'hed saynill come good once i figure to learn themni kicked junk with the bottlennow its merely a teething concernnhe would tell menbut i had my doubtsna 13th floor bedsit a kitchen a couchnthe only ways downncause the bottom youll findnis much clearer to the eye than the top is the other way round