Hobo Jazz

The drunken puppet master spins and tugs the strings
He collects useless scared things lost by ancient kings
He clucks at pigeons but does not feed them scraps
He anal fucks syringes with a crazed greed
And picks at his purple scabs
With a little evil cupid’s forlorn and feverish passion
He wears his putrid cologne like it’s going out of fashion  
And absorbs the sounds of the dank backwash streets
He plucks the orb from the sky to leave it incomplete

The malnutrition over time has caused him mutations
 He preaches nihilism along with practicing cruel fixations
His stomach bubbles, to soil himself is no troubles

He has felt so much pain that he finds himself numb and senseless
He was riding the subway train when the sickness broke his defenses    
The door closing chimes rang out as he sunk no longer able to swim in water stained red
The train did its run twelve more times before anyone even noticed he was dead