Lost men. Lost;
Locked away in prisons and jails and wards,
Hanging out on streets and in parking lots,
Lying on stained mattresses or
Sleeping in streets.
Told to go and get:
Get a job.
Get the hell out.
Get a fucking life.
Slap addled since childhood,
Standing in lines to wait:
For lottery tickets,
For the next check,
For happy hour,
For closing time.
Lost men, born boys with remorse and love and tears
And all the other things life squeezes out of them;
Joining gangs, brotherhoods, cults, anyplace else
That welcomes them, recognizes them as having value.
So let’s blame society, but
Who the hell is that?
It’s you and it’s me and it’s them –
And when everybody is to blame,
No one is
The real thief doesn’t want your money,
He wants your dignity, your soul –
So who are the real thieves?
The lost men or the fathers who lost them in the first place?
Lost men – lost —
Until the darkness fills the streets and spills into the homes
Just lights to attract the moths
The lost men