My neighbours in the real world

Are like the people in my dreams

The numb walk with the wicked

And I walk in between

They're really hard to talk to

But they've always something to say

It's either thick and incoherent

Or undercut with rage



Things out here can get a little crazy

People are aimless - not so smart - a bit lazy

Things in my neighbourhood can get a little rough

But that's where my room is, that's where I keep my stuff



Women around here don't fare all too well

There's usually a comment or a taunt from some loser who smells

The ones who get married or shack up don't last too long

Their men like to fight - sometimes with guns



Things out here can get a little crazy

People are aimless - not so smart - a bit lazy

Things in my neighbourhood can get a little rough

But that's where my room is, that's where I keep my stuff



Some of the old ones have lived here for years

They keep their places nice in spite of everything

Once they had a meal for the lonely and downtrodden

Now they lock their doors tight - those days are forgotten



At night there's a lot of yelling at each other and to themselves

I hope I never hear somebody's final cry for help

There's a lot of hate out there so I keep my head down

Past the 7-11, down my dark street till I get home



Things out here can get a little crazy

People are aimless - not so smart - a bit lazy

Things in my neighbourhood can get a little rough

But that's where my room is, that's where I keep my stuff