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I wake up on the wrong side of town,
Across the railroad tracks,
In the darkness.
And here I find the funniest thing:
A blind man in a lawn chair.
Says he's watching the grass grow.
But he doesn't know it's 3 a.m.
Across the weedy, gravel yard,
Through the rusted, squeaking gate,
Down to the bank of the river.
The body of a baby--
A plastic bag.
Depends on how you look at it.
I wake up on the wrong side of the bed,
Across the railroad tracks,
In broad daylight.
And here I find the saddest thing:
The lawn chair empty,
And blood on the rails.
A homeless man warms his hands,
In the flames of a chemical drum.
But he doesn't know it's 9 a.m.
And everyone else is in their suit,
In their office, with their coffee.
I wake up on the wrong side of you.
You don't cross that railyard,
You don't know the blind, the cold, or the hungry.
And you don't know me.
------
Define yourself or someone else will.
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Wall Street
