Freddie Kruger wears a Rolex,
and freedom isn’t free,
and most the kids that I have met don’t know what they want to be.

Surrounded by nameless faces,
and faces with no names,
whilst those in power make mistakes and never take the blame.

Searchin’, forever,
for the thing you just can’t find,
non existent eyes you sold for scraps thinkin’ life would treat you kind.

If you’re looking for a kindling eye
it’s only witnessed in the old,
as all the youths take harshness home, with hearts engulfed by cold.

Fashion,
It dictates you’re either from the Bronx or you’re on drugs,
and those whom roll in smart attire must then run from the thugs.

Too many glass bottles
get introduced to our floor,
As drunken angers rage appears, showing all, we yearn for more.

Dishevelled and dissatisfied,
We sit together, alone.,
Freewheelers often search the streets, for they’ve no place to call home.

Everything worth having,
Is too hard to ever get,
And the thing that apparently comes for free, I haven’t witnessed yet.

In a world that doesn’t turn no more,
Will these things ever cease?
Or shall we wait for civil war, rather than increase the peace?