I am feeling what it feels to be alone, as I will someday be.
This is my life, Chaos, Abandoned.
I hear rebels who were once friends.
A mugging begets their end.
Babes they are, Weak men they will someday be.
Why can they not see?
It's almost beyond belief.
Does mischief leave them blind?
For ill consequence will they someway find.
Do I hold the right cards in my hands?, Or is it me who is in a strange land?
I can not decide who I feel more sorry for, Them or I.
Here trying to define poverty's thin line.
Will I be a glutton to wastefulness, and cradle the slums?
Forgetting the plight of the righteous mans' gun.
This world is not an end.
Its' wonders have just begun.
This is me praying for the rise of the sun.
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