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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
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