Donezetti's Borgeia In the Key of C

black phantom shadows - (human beings) aromas do float but are rarely seen check out the scent on the putrid, muted breeze - busted-up blood tragedy - so many people trapped - flat in the middle of a Kafka dream people are fine with the all night whine - the sirens sound like Donizetti's Borgeia in C - the street has lost its funky-monkey mind - won't listen to a melody in any other key maximize a siren's highest boost - play the wail in C - it will finds a place to roost - the people love to listen to melodic wailing melodies in C mister dumpster's full tonight as nighgtime dippers drop from sight safer hipper dippers dip at morning light while crack-head harlot dippers wed to their head - after smokin' crack - can disappear at noon and end up dead - like poor Lizzie crack-head - dippin' to get fed Lizzie takes her dive in dumpster number nine lunch in the city be a pity not to dine in a loaded dipsy-dumpster where the food tastes fine but Lizzie leaned far and fell right in - but no greedy harlot at the bottom of the bin - 'cause squirmy little wormies ate Lizzie and her sin bright badge's shine on a Saturday night uninformed authority on famine and blight people never look a beat cop in the eye no matter what the truth or street wise lie street people know the bureaucratic game are dirty little shake-downs of multitudinal shame you don't talk to cops you don't give your name you never let a cop be director of the game day to day gravity can cause great pain - on paralyzed, gutter-bound people in the rain - better stand guard over precious cityways - Mammon's dimmin' down - seen its better days - when the harsher haze of poverty was hidden in the maze of interlocking alleyways where shrouded safe in darkness - the furry vermin plays