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Life's Dirty Highway A drug life is but a phantom Not like the athletes who came, Singing the national anthem After winning the final game. Ask directions to be seated To a game no one understood, The score is often repeated With players judged as no good. They score with needles passed in ration Sending hot joy into their vein, Exciting the nerves of lost passion And relieving hours of endless pain. Filling all the craving they desire but still losing on game day, Selling all the dignity they require To score on life's dirty highway. You can see the shadows masked As they gather in a darkened room, Some are crying as they passed, In silence to a waiting tomb. Some asking and some looking for a sign While some won't understand, There are gates at the closing line That do not open with your hand. Starting at eight points of distance The Hells Angels come in a pair, While riding horsemen take no chance With death in the final square. The last needle takes them over hurdles Flashing back to a life so cold, And a mother's breast milk curdles for the child she did not hold... |
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