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The Taxpayers
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Goddamn These Hands of Mine
Linndale '85. Broken bottles on the floor. Some sad, dark man
at the unopened door. Cold air comes through the cracks in the
windows; 15 below in the house when the wind blows. Haven't
made rent in a month, maybe two. Got scum in the drains and
dead birds in the flue. Some scumbag swings by four times a
week selling bathtub crank that he scored on the street. Gonna
get clean, gonna get these devils all out, gonna leave this
hell, gonna get back down south. So goddamn these people.
Goddamn city. Goddamn this weather. And goddamn these broken
down hands of mine.
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