As the political punks hide from reality down on the drive clinging to useless causes that are so fucking vain just taken on to prove they deserve their name. Wash them away. The destitute huddles together on the side of streets that flow like rivers and the fortunate live sheltered within a gentrified fantasy. And no one really sees the vagabond hands palm up for help it is like to us the rain hs washed them away. Wash them away. And the junkies scuffle and leach down by the Carnegie and a shadow barley clothed stand so pathetic at the side of the road. Ready to see her soul she doesn't feel the cold the despair of this city has already swallowed her whole. And there's something about this city where the grey winter days seems to bring out the decay. And it will drench you down to your very soul. To your very soul. And I'm fucking drenched