What's wrong with what I am
Do I not conform
To the city streets and squalor
To the published paranoia
Don't I blend in
With the breakdance remarks
Meaningless High Gloss
Should I be shouting
At a level with the traffic
Searching out sidelines
In the rubbish bins and sidestreets
In the parks with wicked bottles
Or should I go home
And leave you to this madness
It's hard taking camera shots
Of decadence and poverty
Enough to last a lifetime