Something in between

It's the thoughtless who don't live above hell .
Slavery alive and well , chains to a needle and a bottle .
Daughters mourn  , was it something I did ?
As the boys walk to the streets . No clue , no direction .
No hospitality today , neither tomorrow. She's broken , out of order no change in sight .
As I sit on a jagged edge , I'm torn with the writing on the wall . Smudged with hands that don't care , my message she's bitter now .

Maybe one day the dirt will be clean . The edge won't cut as much , maybe I'll be above hell .