Gunshots.
Sirens.
Old crackling laughter, like rustling paper
Promising love and money,
There is no love and money,
The sounds of the night,
The whores’ catcalls with hoarse tired voices,
The children shivering in the cold
The bricks
Covered in dull old paint
And dented trash cans
Spilling broken bottles and the soiled tissues
Soaked in desperate tears
Rip back the glitter
And gauze
See the man for who he is
Look carefully before you judge him
Coals and Diamonds
Are made of the same things
And its not my eyes
That should declare who
Is coal
And who
Is diamond
On the dark streets
Of my place