Concrete mass Looking through the glass In the street People always moving fast So much hate, machine running Money pumping, never stopping Where the fingers get pointed we go No grasp on control, worked to the bone The masses of people, on concrete they roam A place they call home A place they call home I was raised, to read a road map In the city, caught in a mouse trap Never contemplate what I could've been Get on my bike to go clean up shit Don't think, have a drink And stumble down the alleyway Catch a bus, pay a fare And forget about the decayed state Concrete paved Concrete mass your home and your grave