Underneath the Bridge

Low, way below the wrought, rain and sun-beaten asphalt of man Dwell empty, hungry, crying souls in search of the master's plan Some black and some white, some young and some old All tears shed the same when their sad, sad story is told The constant roaring of cars as they speedily pass back and forth from atop Music, yes, this is their sweet melody that plays on and on nonstop Their TV gets unlimited channels and the shows are all the way live Real TV at its absolute best, capturing the conceivable and inconceivable of those in the concrete jungle trying to survive Walking city streets by day in search of a better way A nice little spot underneath the bridge at nightfall to lay their heads from a long, weary day Fugacious comfort is found in the comforter they call cardboard and all sorts of sordid garments City lights gently intermingle with dusk to signify the end of another day and hope for a better tomorrow with all of her empty promises