The Path

Does he reach for the Bible, the bottle, or the gun?
He was once like them, like you.
Now, he's on the run.
But from who does he run?
And from what does he hide?
He was once like them, like you.
Now he's faded inside.
And where once was a smile, and iridescent eyes,
Remain cracked lips forming a liar's disguise.
And in silence he drifts. They never heard his cries.
He was once like them, like you.
Now he's paralyzed.
But there are addictions to feed, and there are masters to pay.
He'll buy a song for a dollar just to get through the day.
And he'll sleep when he can, but it never comes easily.
For there's no rest for the wicked, and even less for the poor.
And as the days passed by he wondered, was he a servant or a whore?
But still he kept going, never slowing, desperate for that golden dream.