The streets have lips
They speak of a man trying to move a rock, hoping a mountain will follow/
they speak of a woman dancing in a rain of bullets trying to salvage joy amidst the sorrow/
they speak stolen moments in the hands of exile/ lives torn at the seams, if only God was willing I would paint portraits of life/
I would paint tragedy in different shades of pink/
I would arrange heartbreak in synch with heartbeats/
if only God was willing these streets would make instead of break/
they would give instead of take/
yet they give willingly false illusions to any soul seeking the pot of gold at the end of the neon lights/
these streets wear different mask and some they give bread/
to some they give wisdom and to others they give misery instead/
another patron is dead seems to be the daily anthem/
Will these streets ever tell the truth about the young vocalists it takes with them/ we all drum to the rhythm played by these streets/
we all chant to the chorus sung by these streets/
we all dig for treasures buried in these streets/
with open palms we fight to catch crumbs thrown by these streets….
….THEY SPEAK!
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