Sal Three

Can you identify, that back door, between moon and sky, what has been emptied, and other parts thrown, by this Neap tide, don't need an inquiry, when truth is bought, then buried, witness the crime, when you’re brought, to where rich men dine, some drink daiquiri, laugh as they're taught, it makes them happy, every walk of life, ends in a nought, you should see their wives, by security lights, pooled on the floor in the winter twilight, you meet the poor.