Company 125
'ONE'
January 2007 Release

Outside slick and blanket black as now they stir
Their cold groping fingers on walls
In damp and dingy corners called home during the day
Little dark boxes with wallpaper hanging torn as decaying flesh
And stained concrete floors chipped from dropped needles and vomit
Ill fitting doors swing and spew a masquerade of patchwork sins
Eyes squinting bug-like in cool neon light
Their collars turned high in leather
Gasping air as thick as flies past laughing tarts with pock marked legs
disguised beneath lacey white

And rows of toothless nameless faceless men
turned sane before their time
By urine posts all would be kings in tattered jeans
behind a mirrored shade
Sucking booze and gum disease
A dying man with gambling debts and cigarettes and piercing eye stare
Dirt tattoo on upturned beggar hands
By sculptured trash and crusted pool
A lady with a wooden leg tucked under her arm
dreaming she's a dancer
As the sun sets it's last rays
and darkness drips like blood turned black

Return to song index