Inner City Blues

I walked through the war zone with my head bowed down eyes fixated on the solid black ground, I dare not lookup not wanting to connect with their eyes nor their minds, because the contact from their weed smoke makes me feel high Instead of birds, bullets fly At night I listen to crack addicts as they moan and cry Piss on the elevators, Vomit on the stairs Complaining about the conditions but no one seems to care Writing on the walls, and broken fences too But they demand their pay when rent is due I think I am feeling kind of sick might just be the flu No sense in going to the doctor, because there is no cure for the inner-city blues...