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You and your ideas of luck and things that sad men sing and empty rooms bleed. There really wasn’t any need for you to be kind,
Industrial decay Left the workers in dismay. Jobs lost, life costs. The buildings are in ruin Yet the teenagers pursue in The creative inspiration This nation chases them away from.
In your colossal columns of sand and grit are buried, forgotten under barrels of fresh paint, Kaleidoscopes of vision and neon colors. fast. Bumper-to-bumper on 95.
We were the kids from another street and another house that would go unnoticed. We made marks on playgrounds,  and sheds, and the same pavement we crawled on in hopes someone would see it from the sky.
I spoted a New York liscense plate hanging from your chest as you parade the streets, from one boro to next. The best artists around can't wait till' you come to town
A troubled teen, she wonders the streets, a paint can in her hand. She wants someone to notice her. She wants someone to value her, so she will receive her value from afar.
Jesus was a king, We didn't even know it Found out Drake could sing, We didn't even know it Slavery resulted to a good thing, You didn't even know it
I tried killing myself, but all I got was black magic. I can't keep running back and forth between grief and pure delight, And when the world is at capacity, And they're taxing weed,
Once an angel sat down next to me, In the form of a homeless man, On a graffitied park bench and Said to me: “Why you’ve been an idiot.  
Urban streets, bustling with life in bright afternoons, Become quiet and cool on cloudy days and early nights-- A barren wasteland without thrum of foot traffic And screams of emergency sirens.
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