Survival Mode in Brum

Cold pavements, spit on bricks, bull and shadow stretch. Blue lights hum,

souls get numbed, hung around the neck. The same postcards, the same dreams,

this is grit and bone. Welcome to Berm city center, every cunt for

their own. Walk past New Street, eyes stay low, don't trust no

face. Needle bins and broken dreams scattered round the place. Heroin breath,

crack pipe kisses, chasing now but numb. Licking foil for five more minutes

just to feel less scum. Girls get clocked like loose change, predator circles slow.

Men see bodies, not a heartbeat, just a hole to own. I learned early,