Tree of life bends now tree of death,
Will for one, all for naught.
When will arid soul give way to soaring rains?
Dear Mr Cameron, please help me do
You see I’m really struggling at the hands of you
You’ve taken all my money, my pride, and dignity
Leave me to wallow in a pit of poverty
I’m trying to swim through quicksand
With sand bags on my back
But the punishments relentless
Tired of all these miseries
She seeks some solace,
Tormented with questions
She’s a hobo, now turned soul-less,
Wandering in the crowds
She searches for one single face,
At last she’s got away from him
She knew one day she would
She would have done it sooner
if she only could
Such a damning adjective.
And until now, I hadn’t realized
just how much it hurts.
What else would you have me do,
All I’m doing
and avoiding awkward areas,
You’ve got me rocking broken in the corner.
And you don’t even know.
Or seem to care.
Sitting on the other side of this fence…