Those "other" streets downtown, where the real "downtown" is found, and the human condition is all run-down. where the classes clash, and the rat-racers smash, thugs rob, beat, and bash, And children get trashed. Downtown, where some think it's fun to visit. They say, "We'll be cool, legit...., We're just going downtown to clown around a bit," but the piranha downtown don't clown around. So, if you're the clown, you will be found face-down. There, its streets are like another planet for man-made concrete has displaced nature's trees, like a frozen heart of granite, Where it's easy to admit that you might want to quit going downtown. Go there and see the dead-eyed stares, and the road-rage glares, bus-jingles selling Pringles and booze, and we all really lose because every single thing about downtown with inequity mingles. There I'm lost, you're lost, we're all lost. Because there's no parking without a cost - for downtown, we're ticketed to a number, next to the park-bench bums who in their fridge-boxes slumber and try to pan-handle with every kind of swindle. For downtown is also the American scandal of homelessness, carelessness, bread-lessness, ... For we've fouled our own nest from the plight of the homeless dispossessed. There, people easily get locked in because the financiers of downtown's sin melt human beings into a low-income bin - a statue en masse whited gray jointly under a pigeon's ass. Many forced to live downtown to the city's vice, become addicted. A lethal overdose is predicted because like heroin, fentanyl, or crack if you try to game downtown, there, you'll find no lack, but only if you have the smack, or else you may get a cap in the back.
Those Other Streets