a rusty carriage with personal belongings

accommodations in a cardboard shelter

wretched clothes to insulate warmth

a soup kitchen line in frigid weather

beg and plead for passers' change

provides your food for this hard days work

live day-by-day, don't consider tomorrow

yesterday's paper will be today's comfort



now there's a dying man living on the streets

he's freezing and ill with nothing on his feet

under the bridge is where he stays

on a bed of trash is where he lays

doesn't ask for much but sincerity

when he begs for spare change so that he can feed

but you kick him down, what gives you the right

then the question's asked, "Why don't they value life?"



reluctantly living on the street

though for some it's not their fault

they had a disease that they could not stop

born schizophrenic right from the start

they sit on the bench and count the clouds

they don't know what's real or who they are

while you lift your nose and walk right by

you laugh and say that they're just insane



never asked for poverty, never asked for disease

never asked for you to push them down to their knees

why do you turn them away, are you that afraid

your attitude only helps them dig their grave

homeless, cold, diseased and alone

you take for granted that you have a home

they once did too but if you only knew

how people judged them as they grew



maybe the majority is on drugs

and maybe they do it for survival

maybe it's for the warmth they supply

or for the feeling that they give all

to put a smile on their face

make them feel good and not disgraced

gives you the image that they're all crazed

when your greed is what put them there in the first place



maybe death for them is better on drugs

'cause the pain without them is just too much

turned to for the security they provide

is better than living a painful life

you say that they are just all bums

drink and drugs are all they love

well they'd love life just like you

if they were given the chance too



--

(Before I save this file and spread it around, I just want to mention

that it is one of THE best records I own. The lyrics, while seemingly

off-rhythm and grammatically garbled at times, strike right to the

heart and mind, as you have just seen. The music, while not too

complex, is hauntingly catchy and has a quality of growing on you.

Anyway, I hope to type up some more lyrics soon by The Pist, Aus

Rotten, Brutally Familiar and Progress. If you have any requests, you

can email me at the address given at the top of this file. Also, just a

word of warning, I wrote a 4-page letter to the band at their PO Box,

and after a month I have still not received a reply, either a phone

call or a letter. And having met Picasso several times at shows, I can

definitely say that his attitude problem is not at all reflective of

his intelligent and insightful lyrics. Oh well. I'm out