Train in a Bottle
Revelation knocks at the rusted door to a closed mind
In hotel rooms drenched in tobacco and sin on the strip
But who knows enough to care about this poor kind
Left to rot under the crusted headboards sealing every lip
It takes all kinds? Expose some purpose of these sorry souls
What is left if not hope dragged from the welfare office
Over the bridge of the homeless and under the businessman's goals
Seeing the curled world map and feeling utterly nauseous
Who can blame her blood stained lipstick or blotched eyes
When the river runs with grit and scum from the careless
Where a chance encounter results in a battered demise
What wills the smoggy sun to rise over the reckless?
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