The Poverty Shrine

A child wondered while at play

Seeing the same people every day

On the same park benches all alone

Sad faces, crying moans and groans

 I did not understand it then

And still wonder why today

Why people waste life away

Morning to night, day after day

 Ragged clothes with dirty faces

No home or dwelling places

Cheap whiskey and bottles of wine

Welcome to the poverty shrine

 Mainline junkies all spaced-out

Street walking ladies all about

Talking trash, yelling; screaming

Some catching a serious beating

 Evil casting out a lifelong spell

Trapped inside this living hell

Stoned hippies giving the peace sign

Welcome to the poverty shrine

 Another world in living time

Begging for a nickel or a dime

A sad state for a person to be

A vision still living inside of me,

 The less fortunate down on their luck

Passing around another bottle of Duck

Lord, extend mercy one more time

Living hell at the poverty shrine.