Rest

On crowded streets, in summer heat
The pavement scorching on his feet
He bumps and bustles through the hustle
Hoping he remains discreet
With whiskey breath, he's marked for death
He pretends not to know it yet
His sole consoling thought in getting lost
Is there's a place where he can rest
So he jostles through the bottleneck
A shade in shades and faded threads
Not knowing where he's going
And forgetting where he's been
He's touched so many lives
Now they wish they could wash their hands
Lest their sterling reputations
Be slightly tainted by the damned
Look at him and brother Grim
They share a bottle and a stride
Hashing out the finer points
Of shepherding death and sheltered life
The sun is long and low and ready
He knows exactly what it means
The waking world will be the same
As this reoccurring dream