The cost of the street
The streets don't send a warning first,They let you drink before the thirst.They hand you dreams with blood-stained hands,Then bury you beneath their plans.
I knew a boy with hopeful eyes,Who swore he'd make it to the skies.He traded books for sleepless nights,And learned to live between the fights.
The corners taught him how to lie,How not to break, how not to cry.How to keep his back against the wall,And answer every midnight call.
His mother waited by the gate,Serving dinner cold to challenge fate.She prayed to God with shaking hands,While death kept drawing newer plans.
The streets took friends before they grew,Left names on walls and memories too.A candle burns where laughter stood,A silent grave in the neighborhood.
And every scar became a debt,For things his heart cannot forget.The money came, the peace never did—Just nightmares buried where he hid.
Now every siren sounds the same,Like someone softly calling his name.And in the dark, when no one's there,He counts the ghosts instead of prayers.
So tell the children chasing crowns,About the kings the streets dragged down.For every legend people speak,A grieving mother weeps all week.
The streets don't love, they only take.They smile while teaching souls to break.And when they finally ask for pay,They take much more than life away.
And years went by like cigarette smoke,
Fading slow with every promise broke.
The mirrors aged before his face,
Time left its fingerprints in every place.
He keeps old numbers in his phone,
Though half the voices now are gone.
Some in cells with rusted days,
Some beneath the earth where silence stays.
The block still sings the same old song,
To young hearts that think they're strong.
It never tells them what it costs,
How many souls are left and lost.
At night he hears the thunder roll,
And feels the winter in his soul.
He sees their faces in his sleep—
The ones he couldn't save, the ones he couldn't keep.
No medals hang for what he knew,
No second chance comes walking through.
Just faded pictures, cracked and worn,
And memories that return each dawn.
The streets keep every debt they're owed,
They mark each step along the road.
And every man who claims their name
Will someday answer just the same.
So if you hear the city call,
Remember those who had to fall.
For beneath the lights and all the fame,
The streets are hunger without a name.
And when the final night arrives,
No crown remains, no legend survives.
Only a whisper carried deep—
"The streets took everything they could keep."
B