Charles Taylor

I saw a speck Of paper mustered in the wind And dragged before my feet Avoiding the contamination of the street. Sure you had western benefactors Culpable as you were gullible The stench Is what make hold my nose From what sewage Does this common paper blows It rises above it Like a buzzard and hovers Over what was left of scrabbling rabbles For the baubles of tragic mines I saw that silhouette Like a legacy framed in regret I was cold Colder than the hardness of diamond And could not care About your story When the dead was strewn everywhere In their greed I only knew if I was fire This bit of paper would have no turn in history.