A Hope in Hell

[Naga_Fireball]

There's little that's crueler
Than a hope in Hell.
You start to actually believe
That things can change,
That the air is non toxic,
Go ahead and breathe it.

And then instead of that goodness,
You get a lungful of shit ("surprise!").
Don't you dare argue or ask for a refund.
Because you don't have a hope in hell.
Go ahead and hire that lawyer,
Says some dirtball desk pilot.
Have fun, have a nice life.

I think about how they get to play nanny
Right as the door hits my ass,
The newspaper tells it true!
Inspector trashit, hello habit,
Don't you worry nun.
Losing your innocence isn't like an amputation.
It's like poison. You don't really notice.

Until one day you start to feel your age,
and wonder where yesterday went.
Under the bridge like so much wastewater.
Scraped from a boot like so much shit,
Good morning and good night.

I can't wait to get out of here.
Yet there remains a nagging insistence
That right when I start to breathe again,
There will be that lungful of shit...
God, wouldn't it be nice to have
A hope in hell.

Edit:

Sound of Music
Adieu

[youtube]https://youtu.be/Qy9_lfjQopU[/youtube]

[Naga_Fireball]

http://projects.seattletimes.com/2017/p ... elessness/" onclick="window.open(this.href);return false;

"Anybody can end up homeless ... we never thought it would be us."

We invited residents of several homeless encampments in Seattle to share their personal stories, life lessons, frustrations and dreams.

Here's what they said on some of the resulting handwritten journal pages, accompanied by black-and-white portraits that each person helped create. Above are Marie, Leo and their dogs at a camp along Interstate 90. (Erika Schultz / The Seattle Times)

The people who agreed to participate in this project, in most cases, lived in settings that lacked a space to comfortably and neatly write down their thoughts. Recognizing this, we have transcribed each of the journal entries.

"THEY DON’T BUILD mansions like this in Beverly Hills,” a man named Charles says as he greets visitors to a tent city beneath a tangle of highway overpasses in Seattle’s Sodo District.

It’s a cold, damp day, and Charles warms himself by a smoldering campfire in a cluttered cul-de-sac of tents, bags of clothes, and pots and pans — everything you need when you have no place else to live.

The locals here optimistically nicknamed this triangle of earth and puddles bordered by roads on three sides “The Field of Dreams.” But a stroll through the camp’s main drag of dirty rugs, soaked blankets, shoe-sucking mud and wooden pallets reveals only a boulevard of broken ones — theirs and ours.

What photographer Erika Schultz and I don’t realize on this first visit to “The Field” is that the city is about to evict dozens of occupants of the camp due to safety concerns, including allegations of rape and prostitution, as well as the obvious public-health issues that come with people living outdoors among piles of garbage, heaps of personal possessions and intrepid rats.

On this day, the rodents scurry across the mud and under the pallets that separate many of the tents from the soggy ground.

In a matter of weeks, everyone we meet and everything we see here will be gone, swept out of sight at this location. But the gnawing crisis of homelessness will only have slogged to another patch of dirt or pavement in a perverse cycle of settling and uprooting.