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They are symbols of the weak, yet you could never live as one.
Disgusting and unkempt, they are vermin, scum.
Yet they are signs of a city’s greatness.
For every golden coin there is a golden tooth,
Sinking into remains; the street scavengers they are,
Vultures without the patience or grace.
For every new car comes a stranger to make it shine
But hesitant still, when it comes to compensation.
A stranger, however benevolent or kind, is a stranger nonetheless.
Lest we forget how they became so kind.
For every thoughtless act comes a blissful addiction
Looking to take a loan on a little more time with rapture
Enough trips there, and they shall earn a free trip to oblivion.
Yet for every one gone there are four more born,
The vicious cycle of life and lack thereof.
Tragic victims of bliss and indifference, for to them
Staying alive is enough to thrive and survive.