The Drunk And The Disorderly

Down in the gutter of my life story
 I'm lying in a bed with a dream playing in my head
 Spitting blood into a test tube
 I used to be half a man I used to be useful
 I walk with the demons and the devils
 Shadowboxing the ghosts of my reflection in windows
 All the pigeons and the statues
 Are staring down at me
 At the drunk and the disorderly
 Paper bag bottles in the wardrobe
 Stealing from the shops where I once bought my hope
 All wrapped up in a plastic bag
 Lying still while the human race step over the rags
 I'll name the names in my diatribe
 Posthumously posted on my website
 Milkmen and taxi drivers
 Are last men on the street
 And the drunk and the disorderly
 Who am I, who are you?
 Who is the god that we how down to?
 Who are we, who are they?
 Who is the master, who is the slave?
 I stepped out of the present tense
 I cut the umbilical chord of reality
 I don't know where this really is
 Or where all this illusion really begins
 I keep an old business card inside my shoes
 An anonymous connection to the life I once used
 Curtains moving in the council houses
 On the grey estates
 Of the drunk and the disorderly
 Who am I, who are you?
 Who is the god that we how down to?
 Who are we, who are they?
 Who is the master, who is the slave?
 I am powerless
 There is a greater power
 As I understand it
 Within myself
 I'm ready for changing
 I'm ready to be changed
 Hear my voice
 Call and be called
 I know where the bodies have been buried
 I know things only the dead should know
 All above me, all around me
 Within and without
 Are the drunk and the disorderly
 The drunk and the disorderly