In the back streets

As I walk down the long narrow road
the dim cloudy sky coats everything in a fine gray mist
the eerie tone and depth give the back alleys voices
they scream of abuse treacherous and traitorous
rubbish lines the sides of blood stained streets
syringes holding that last drop of black magic
the sweat elixir craved to make life seam less hopeless
face's of ghosts long forgotten even before there death
stare at those who remain, puzzled
the bottles of alcohol smashed line the path
they look like rocks in the light
body’s both alive and dead show up every now and again
but for the main part I’m alone
everybody’s alone, trapped in their own little world
of pain, neglect, suffering and abuse
there troubles plague them like the scares that you try to hide
paranoid, if they let someone in will they see there pain
it fills them whit shame and so they stay the same
echoing the voices of the dead in silence
boarded up windows, broken down doors
not a sound, except the voices of the streets and the dead
bullet casings tell their story
of even more death, lies and deceit
some much more simple, some quick cash for a drug hit
in the back streets