Reflections of a junkie (the penniless poet)
I sit here in the gutter with a needle in my arm
Reflecting on the fact that once i owned a farm
Ishould be up this morning harcesting the crop.
Time and time i ask myself - is it too late to stop?
Everything i ever had has sadly been sold,
Iknow if i keep doing this i surely wont grow old.
Iknow i really need some help, but don't know what to do,
But i remember how it started, when i was introduced to glue.
My mother keeps on nagging me, so does my dad,
They keep on reminding me of the things i once had,
I tried to save some money once to buy my old farm back,
I bet you guessed where that lot went, on another load of smack.
M y children won't talk to me, i've also lost my wife.
Next time i shoot in my viens, i might pay with my life.
I sit here contemplating on how good things might have been,
I f i had not started taking ganga, smack and heroin.
god bless
The Believer (the penniless poet)
You see a caterpillar crawling by,
one month later a butterfly.
You see a bird's egg turn into a dove,
YOu must believe there's something above.
You plant a seed, it turns into a flower,
YOu must believe someone has power.
If it isn't you and it isn't me,
There's none so blind as those who wont see.