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Gabriel Duncan

Humble humile simple people
Going about their business day
In the heart of San Francisco
Losing their heart a little more every day
While people live in the gutters
Giving former cutters
And suicidals
A reason to give thanks
For being alive today
At least I didn't turn out like that

And on Polk St .
A fourteen year old girl hops into a car
She'll be carted far, far away
In hopes she'll be a model some day
While pre-pubescents huff a bottle of canned air
Who would have thought
It was just as easy as breathing your cares away

Damned from day one
It's not hard to be a sinner
Grown up in a cold reality
You'll never be a winner, digger
Dig it?

Existing in preconceptions
Having a trigger as your only friend
Gaining vigor again
The spice of life
As crystal Meth

Who could have stooped so low
Wayward and adrift
Parched, bone-dry
Staring up at the shoes
That walk on you
Or in the eyes
That despise your every breath
Thinking this isn't reality
No, all these people are lies
Marching to the ocean
In search of death

Spilt on the sidewalk
In front of the shelter
Forced to move on
Contend with the winter
Crying against GOD
And growing thinner

Gavin Newsom cut the life line
So there's not as much food to give
Sooner or later the cops will round you up
And give you that ticket
But for now
You ride alone,
Hoping you won't die

While each passing day
Gives you the only pestilence you know
And the dirty looks you can't understand
So you wander slowly, asking for help
Asking so quietly, until you must simply demand
Open hand, food, not money
A place to stay, and treatment too