Nice Boy

Lying face down shivering
in this teaming gutter of tears,
I hear the voices of my brothers... their lips quivering.
They ramble... they weep.

Nice Boy, Poor Boy,
Live Boy, Dead Boy.

They said I was nice...
a nice poor boy. Dreg! Delinquent!
They pitted me for my lice,
but still they chide.

Nice Boy, Poor Boy,
Live Boy, Dead boy.

In a bonnet and a tie
they pray for my soul.
Yet they won't mark where I lie;
it's just a potter's hole.

Nice Boy, Poor Boy,
Live Boy, Dead Boy.