The outcast bunch crossed the neon city doorways
Under the scorn of the busy businessmen
"that scum is still the same
Must shoot them to death."
Homeless like Black Angel are relegated to the lowest degree
But the master keeps on preaching
Philosophing between failures and sucess
Sharing streets with knifes, nipers and street vendors
Hundreds of wide open hearts taken by simples words of hope
Feeding the hungry crowds
Ired of routine and the sansara's wheel