Locusts in Vain, pt. 1

it depends where you go, in the burbs, on the road
paved with asphalt, smashed rocks or dirt on the floor
could be needles or beer bottles smashed to pieces
tragic, lavish evenings to look past the leases
or the non-taxed nomad, livin at your bus stop
restin through the yells, even sleepin when they bust Glocks
mom at home, makin sunshine tea with her apron on
kids upstairs debatin which peer to get naked on
the ace is in the cards, but they dealin out deuces
high, so the ceiling's elusive but still feelin obtrusive
nurses in the backroom, Rummy and then more
while your grandparents' gaspin, on their tummies with bed sores
the lonely only get whores to shield their pain
while the money-grubbers hustle cause the yield's insane
the field's a train, and some of our best youth are wasted
tryin to jump the tracks instead of get through the basics...

this the nation that we travel in, every single day
i promise your pain is my pain, in every single way
life is heavy with the lame, but we tread to keep the sane
the focus of our opus, but we 're locusts in vain.

'07.