Walking Clothes, Stone Trust

I keep my back to the wall when I enter the zone.

I stay sharp moved like a ghost on patrol. Static voices always crowding my zone.

I don't hate the people. I just hate what they're on. I want that

low and down, fiscal. Trust don't come easy when you're built from stone.

Every handout feels like a rope. Pulling at my neck, trying to pull

me in close. I don't need the crowd. But I feel that pull.

I don't say it loud. But you probably know. I hold down

at my working close. But I don't wanna be alone. I marry my