Cold Asphalt Prayers

Cold hands

Cracked lips

Corner store light hums

Kids trade pills for a handshake

Name brands for a handout

Sirens spin colors on the brick

Chalk stains that never wash

Mama praying over old bills

TV talking about some distant clash

These streets

They got their own religion

Built on blood and broken glass

We live small in a giant prison

Hope keeps hiding in the trash

Street drugs

Fistfights

War on the screen

Same bruise

Just a different scene

These cold asphalt prayers we pour

Street drugs

Fights

War

He came back in desert boots

Sand still stuck in the seams

Eyes too loud for this quiet block

Carrying things he never speaks

Little bro running with a pack

Dollar dreams

Heavy schemes

Thinks a quick score is a future

Can’t see the cost in between

These streets

They got their own religion

Built on blood and broken glass

We live small in a giant prison

Hope keeps hiding in the trash

Street drugs

Fistfights

War on the screen

Same bruise

Just a different scene

These cold asphalt prayers we pour

Street drugs

Fights

War

Is it peace if we just feel numb? (feel numb)

Is it home if we can’t go home?

I keep writing names on the wall in my head

Hoping one day I stop adding more (oh Lord)

These streets

They got their own religion

Built on blood and broken glass

We live small in a giant prison

Hope keeps hiding in the trash

Street drugs

Fistfights

War on the screen

Same bruise

Just a different scene

These cold asphalt prayers we pour

Street drugs

Fights

War