1970's folk

Some call it depression some call it bullshit for with many struggles they think it's just life others call it bourgeois boredom with less things escapable, their minds looking for things of which...they're incapable I see the soldier eyes shot with drink but no dinner holding a gun for a state holding his funds despite the loyalty in his heart and the bruises on his hands I see across the curb the beggar, drug slump did he find his truth in his slumber? or maybe...it's just hunger One seat over In the mask of music the fat man farts silently but the sound actually had a whiss I laugh mentally wondering if that's his truth to stink up the area thinking everyone aloof Waiter! bring another bottle. the bottle that's drowned many youth.