Poor

writting my life to paper I am struggling now, but how about my later You say I owe you the world, Well how about my maker? My face is pale, yours is crowed with make-up Every day a new goliath, I fail to wake up I miss yesterday, your disires make me pay I hate to say, Lord take me away! depts are calling, and death is following tired of borrowing, tired of doing the laundry Friends can't hold me disgusted but not once have they told me torn jeans, walking like a meance feeling like I am in the wrong skin Smeeling like last nights raw beans and sardines Broke I regret the hour I woke "Lies" is the name given to all the promises I ever spoke I prevoke the fortunate, choke in the faces of those living opulant If I am to die all I will ever be useful for is manure why was'nt I born pour, Raised poor, Lady fate I hate her hungry, broken and neglected I write my life