Hard Cases Poem by Kris Whelan (1971)

These city streets where I was born where my old jeans got ripped and torn
I’m standin’ here in this ghost town but I remember what went down
Slipping and sliding on the pavement ice we were trying to make men of mice
Thought we were big thought we were strong, don’t make me laugh, very wrong
Empty faces in these empty places
Shoes without laces, hard cases
It’s been a long time since I have flown these city streets that I’d outgrown
I was up and gone without a trace, glad to leave the place
Standin’ here in this ghost town, I’m the only one around
There’s a new crew with all their time to waste it leaves me with a bitter taste
A new street order, younger gun, hard case
Empty faces in these places
Shoes without laces, hard cases
The only one I got is in my car
Hard case for my guitar
Empty faces in this empty place
Shoes without laces, hard cases