Soured Milk and Rotten Apples
I offer my apologies; if perhaps I may offend;
But I’m burdened by atrocities; that seem to never end.
The odor does precede them; as they approach my way;
It’s the smell of one who meddles; that I’ve often seen each day.
They’re filled with their opinions; that undermining my life;
That gives them false pretensions; that they wield as if a knife.
They are but a minion; that circles in the pond;
And scavenge all those pieces; that are floating all around.
I struggle with my burdens; while they spit straight in my face;
And they hurl their vicious insults; as if offering me a grace.
The paper in their pockets; says in God we trust;
They consider it a warranty; for there decadence and lust.
How many times will they come; come at me this way
And How many miles must I walk; until they go away;
They are doubtlessly a pestilence; attracted by my light;
Wondering what there is to steel; when the sun goes down tonight.
Depart from me you mongrels; it’s you that is the fool
For the master of the life you chose; is a beast that is too cruel.
Things for you will never change; and this life is where you’ll stay;
You’ll stay here till this comes to end; and its then that you will pay.
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