I wander through the hive,
watching others try to
stay alive,
survive
and maybe even
thrive.

Yet in this
hustle and bustle
you need
muscle
and commitment,
and I don't seem to be
equipped with that
equipment.

Don't have the dedication
to beat down others.
When you see
another mug,
I see one of my
brothers.

The law of
The Concrete Jungle
is "Do Business or Die",
and when your best friend
perishes,
remember to cry.

I can't stand it,
never planned it,
but I stand
in opposition.
They call me weak
for lacking
a killer disposition.

So I retreat into shadows,
and leave you
to your games,
hoping one day,
you'll pay
for your crimes.