My neighbours in the real worldAre like the people in my dreamsThe numb walk with the wickedAnd I walk in betweenThey're really hard to talk toBut they've always something to sayIt's either thick and incoherentOr undercut with rageThings out here can get a little crazyPeople are aimless - not so smart - a bit lazyThings in my neighbourhood can get a little roughBut that's where my room is, that's where I keep my stuffWomen around here don't fare all too wellThere's usually a comment or a taunt from some loser who smellsThe ones who get married or shack up don't last too longTheir men like to fight - sometimes with gunsThings out here can get a little crazyPeople are aimless - not so smart - a bit lazyThings in my neighbourhood can get a little roughBut that's where my room is, that's where I keep my stuffSome of the old ones have lived here for yearsThey keep their places nice in spite of everythingOnce they had a meal for the lonely and downtroddenNow they lock their doors tight - those days are forgottenAt night there's a lot of yelling at each other and to themselvesI hope I never hear somebody's final cry for helpThere's a lot of hate out there so I keep my head downPast the 7-11, down my dark street till I get homeThings out here can get a little crazyPeople are aimless - not so smart - a bit lazyThings in my neighbourhood can get a little roughBut that's where my room is, that's where I keep my stuff