ill be counting.

for the crippled who walk at night

for the children who hunt boxes 

to the girls who smoke cigarettes at concerts with the good looking guys that cant dance 

for the grandmothers taking care of the kids without parents

for the single mothers that do what they can 

to the fathers that don't deserve the title 

for the artists who paint their masterpieces under rocks 

for the aspies that cant connect

to the narcissist who cant reflect 

for the blind that smile

for the mild mannered people who wish for something extra

for the trophy-wife activists that just need a little passion

to the whore who cant feel

for the single dads who don't have answers 

for the musicians thatll never be heard 

to the grave diggers that steal

for the janitors that dance the vacant halls

to the couples madly in love

to the people who cant bare to watch 

for the widows that yearn for just one more minute 

to the men that stare at the clock 

for the misunderstood whose lips don't work 

to the shy guys that lurk behind the shadows

to the hurt women that hide behind a mask 

to the silly girls with nothing underneath 

for the cops with a false sense of authority 

for the world travelers begging to see something different 

to the bus drivers that'll talk to anyone

to the priests that cant swallow their own sermon 

for the preachers preaching atop soapboxes in front of coffee shops 

to the pseudo intellectuals that know theyre full of shit

for the freaks just want someone to love

to the wealthy men without a meaningful memory 

for the souls with nothing but time

to the cancer patients making lists 

for the men that need to lie

to the women that sleep with them

for the heros that need saving

to the killers that are already dead inside 

for the do-gooders that pay it forward 

to the monsters hoping theres no such thing as hell

to the CEO's and filthy politicians doing cocaine as well

for the hypervigilants paralyzed but their own thoughts

to the self-possessed in love with their own voice 

for the inner child still reaching for the stars

for those who punch in because they have no choice 

for the soldiers bearing much more than a few scars 

for the boy starring up at Mars and way beyond the moon 

to the adults still watching cartoons 

for the drug addicts covering scars with tattoos 

to the convicts sentenced to life, full of remorse, but whose parole gets refused 

for the trannys selling a temporary fantasy 

for the broken hearts with nothing but empathy 

for the suits that strut to work like its their lucky day 

to the young runaways without a home or backyard to cherish 

to the celebrities that never return 

to the wise men living in a young boys body 

for the ghosts walking thru walls because they cant handle saying goodbye 

to the ones with no sense of self-worth too afraid to say hello

to the beautiful people that just walk on by 

for the one that isn't clever enough to make her smile

for the princess that wont meet him halfway 

for the clumsy kid with a pocket full of awkward moments 

to the aliens wondering if they'll ever find their way home

for the dribblers that stutter praying to sing one day 

to the unlucky cursing the Gods 

to the sister hiding under fake wings 

for the chronic masturbators running out of hand towels 

to the uneducated screaming to be taught the vowels 

for the poet that would rather talk to you than to paper

to the ones constantly using hand sanitizer

for the day dreamers sinking in quicksand 

to the girl with a year long pass to disneyland 

for the exhausted entertainers than cant stop the act

to the addicted that wont come down or come home 

for the poor bastard still full of hope as he dies alone 

for the cynic looking down his nose to spit an opinion 

to the class A fuck-up waiting for his next chance 

for the lonesome cutter bleeding for a real sensation 

for the doctors without a clue that cant offer an explanation 

for the children of 3rd worlds thinking of californication 

to the alcoholics that can break the ice 

to the tortured prisoners living day by day slowly convincing himself that theres more beauty in death and beyond than in life 

for the one who sends nothing but love and positive energy 

to the brothers and sisters that aren't officially on the family tree

for the one that writes because it rings true

and for those who can say that they love me 

i see. i feel. i love you.