POOR

Written by: Eric Zivanai

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