The ghosts cried on
One man one Bullet
So many reasons to live on
But none compelling enough
To dispel the ghosts from his head

A dying man met a pixie
She pressed her glowing lips against
His and let out a breath of life into his pale shambled body

He held her close playing the song of her heart on the strings of her soul

They found new energy in eachother
And walked through the waves of trees to rejoin the forest together

Tears marked the ****** of his masculinity

Feminity died with the mud on her jeans

She ripped through his wall with so much gusto and colour he was breathless

Every minute with her had stars falling from the very eyes of the universe

His name was poverty
he's the symptomn of a system that bleeds greed

The rich exploit the young, the poor, so they may feast off the backs of children
Bodies of those lost to the system pile up underneath them

Never shedding a tear for those lost to the streets laying in cold dirt beds with grass sheets