They try to find peace of mind,
A Hypodermic steals the scene.
They freak out, take a trip;
But peace of death, is all that’s been.
They bounce and babble, after the prickle
Of the dullened needle they use;
They squirm and wriggle, trying to find
Peace.  But their minds they lose.
The pusher practices his daily jingle;
To turn on kids wherever he can.
Passing out death in small packages,
Is this what we call a man…?
I had a dream the other night-
Of drugs marching in a straight line;
With hypodermic needles slung at their sides-
A constant battle, of drugs in your mind.
1975