desolate and without purpose
  radiating from so many septic sources
  forming the fabric of a wayward people
  disappearing as the vestiges of our past
    scratched like tartan into virgin soil
  a substrate for progress and disarray
  a spreading network of broken dreams
  searching for a thoroughfare to take us away
    just a little tale from the streets of America (say a little prayer)
  sparkled promises paved with pathos and hysteria
  trenchant, weary native sons
  step back
  and see the damage done
  meander to the horizon (shoot straight to the horizon)
  the streets of America
    black, tarred concrete
  pine for me
  lying domant
  for you and country
  hardened surface
  cracked within
  catch the sweat
  from off the chin
    of men and women
  senior and child
  who look to you
  and your sterile miles
  and in their stares
  is bald dismay
  for what you promised
  led them astray
    hard-cracked, daunting, lifeless veins
  false hope corridors to greener pastures is all that remains