Down on Their Luck - Xasthur

If they weren’t already dead they’d just want to die

Here’s to a living grave in which they lie

Knowing things that no one needs to know

They’re walking with no place left to go

Left with a handful of broken tools

The streets got them wandering like fools

A full dumpster can’t keep him fed

Living where I hear all the voices in his head

He’s got a lot of stories for never leaving this place

His skin is gray and dim

She was a bigger mess than him

He had to leave her

On the streets he caught cabin fever

He chose the wrong time when he felt her

She thought he had a home but he’s living in a shelter

He tells his tales and he reflects

About the good old days in the projects

Telling all the losers down on their luck

Shouting to the world, he just doesn’t give a fuck

There’s no one on the other end of that phone

He’s got an audience but he’s all alone

He can’t hear his own voice but he knows what you’re saying

There’s no other role he could be playing

Things that don’t add up, things that have fallen apart

Their life’s not much different than their shopping cart…

He says talking to himself keeps him from going insane

As if he hasn’t seen his life go down the drain

Living too fast to see or to know

That’s the high price of living on skid row

Can’t afford to stay or to leave

Inmate of the ghetto written on his sleeve

I see the looks on their faces

Hard to believe the streets are better places

Don’t stare into their eyes or listen to their voice

A reflection of yourself, or are you here by choice?

Some folks appear to have a lot more

Left with no choice but to mingle with the poor

Nothing good would come knocking if they had a door

Can’t kick the bottle, its the best friend he ever had

But when death calls his name he’ll sure be glad

Can’t afford to leave or to stay

The high price of poverty getting in his way

And we’re just living to see him another day