Ghetto Rain

It runs in the gutters like the childeren of the streets, sneaking into houses and settling in abaondoned places caught in the act and thrown out without a pause who can wipe it from their faces and not think of how nice it would be to be somewhere dry and warm? This ghetto rain, when it comes down, it pours with a fury dripping into sad eyes and tired faces, traces down scars and off broken noses If there were flowers they might be wetted but the urbanity and the profanity and the humanity brush it way into the concrete forest of metal and angst Where it runs into the cracks and seeps into the minds of the forgotten This ghetto rain, when it comes down with the fury of thugs weeping it's never going to stop like the ink of a tattoo will never ever go away When will the clouds clear out?