It’s no place to raise children,
cause there’s nothing for them to do,
but die young by donning blue and red,
robbing, raping, killing just to be apart of something,
to feel alive,
nothing to do but grow old and fat,
hop the border to drown their troubles
for there are no jobs to go to,
because NAFTA took them all away.
A stagnant pool of crime and despair
glittering only in the reflection from a rearview mirror.
It is no place to raise children.
Yet, I still call it home.
Thanks goes to Adrian for inspiring this little verse. Learn more about Border City.