trying (and dying) to imagine

I look at him
dead in the eye
and try
to imagine
what I'm telling him
is true

Dead in the eye
that… Die
is what he's meant to do

I tell him "Sorry, you
don't have enough green pieces of paper
with some dead man's face on 'em
to eat today"

I say "Gold's
more than just a color
It never corrodes!
So the road's
where you've gotta stay

And die as I may…
watch you
from the corner of my eye
with my
five dollar, half-eaten sub
in the palm of my hand

But listen
and hear me
and try
to understand
that it's the game of life…
and you chose
not to play

I say
"Try to imagine
what I'm telling you is true
Chaos would ensue
if I…
fed you.

Try to imagine
the calamity of welfare
and
the ineffectiveness
of communism
are more than just
products
of our own jaded faults.

Try to imagine
order's more important
than any man's soul
And try to imagine that a heart
is meant
to halt.

That sort of imagination
is infectious
and a disease
that we've all succumbed to

So…
what's it come to --- as
we hide behind our pride?

What's it come to --- when
all we've done is lied?

And what's a bum do
when his imagination
concedes and gives?

And what's a bum to do
when he isn't imaginative enough
to live?