She walks down pavement
She makes the government’s infrastructure look like beauty
Her beauty turns away the rules of the snooty conservative government
The constitution loses its soul
When she bends over to check the hood of a car about to roll
Her boyfriend accompanied by other boyfriends who hit on her
I stand on the sidelines
Problem is I murmur
You probably thought a stutter was worse

She’s such a high class gal
Despite her sultriness and I’m not judging
But I must mention she goes to Church
So you might still mistake her for being an uptown sister
She dances to rock music
Her head doesn’t even sway to the EDM that the plebeians surrounding her play
She’s an anachronism
But she just needs me to introduce her Monet’s impressionism
I bet her cultural values force her to mould Picasso’s Cubism

Even though I’m not a man’s man
She without influence is not enough
Because influencing is love
And I hope it is to this cute rebellious dud
I suppose from her house she ran
When she looked morose in school during period nine
It was English Drama and suddenly she couldn’t seem to remember the line

With her friends flanking her she walks and talks
She’s on the phone while she’s wearing her socks
She’s on the prowl she’s an active girl
That women is close to my heart
And I hope to treat her like a clam treats its pearl

Sometimes
The panic
Is more dangerous
Than the pandemic

No more vibrant bazaars with vegetables lined across carts
No more shouts of vendors piqued with anticipation for the day's sell
No more selling of fruits and poultry to the hordes of families lining near a mandi
I must be on the wrong street, my memory fails me.
No more spices being sold for a day of solace from the midnight cries of a mewling child?
No more rabble of vendors that belong on fields, away from home and from their wives?
Is this even Delhi?
Oh! Look a tricolor map on a desolate stretch of empty push-carts
Why does that torn flag that unites us all hang low in humility?
Where are all the people of the city?
Is that my India putting on a broken disguise?
The only thing holding me together is my dignity

Our inner demons hide behind
The cracks that face forward
Seasoned by dungeons and darkness
They fill in the holes and cover up the crevices

Soon, my soul will be completely shattered
As your powerful glare becomes the last water drop
This ocean can take
And when the vessel of emotion breaks, it breaks

A butterfly flutters
Through the breeze
The wind healing its broken wings

Its Monsoon's *** end
It shed its tears on the bare leaves
The rain arrived and soon left
So fast, it swept me off my feet

I share this scene of the last shower
On a park bench, with the people here
The mud is filled with fallen flowers
Ravens will sit on trees, sky-bound till next year

The Indian cork trees hide behind hedges
Collecting its last drops greedily in each flower
While puddles form memories in the dead trenches
Rain comes and goes, leaving only petrichor

Winter will wrap up Monsoon's graceful stay
The swaying trees will bid farewell to a weeping friend
The pounding on my rooftop will quickly fade
I'll only desire for its return in the end

Wandering the streets
Feeling in the rain
Keeps my love
In the air
Gray in the day
Evening keeps my love alive
So I wake up with her in the morning
Unrest at the night
Feeling the sensual senders
Take my angel's breath

Why won't you answer my calls?
Does the phone ring off the wall
Are you thinking of him
Why do you rock my world...

I know love's a word away
You just need to say you love me
In a letter posted to the heavens
You shake my earth...

Do you think of me with each season
They'll keep changing
And we won't meet
But, I know we will have changed.

So, move on.

All your tears are fresh in the morning
Yet, I wait for every clear evening to cope
Wrestling the desolate storm without hope
Hearing closely for sight of some longing

You remember when we watched the rain
A rogue wind hit us and we weren't the same
With every push and shove drew us further apart
We tried to justify the walls because help never came

Did we have some change of heart?
The sun and Earth aren't quite estranged
We were birds of the sky that lost trust in flight
As we endure every month in silence and slight

It's October, I listen to the slow burning of your arms
We have seen worse times in the past and waited hours
Moving ahead from our last, first to last, for the stars
To start a fire, you have to trust the dark

You told me to wait
I was sure I cared
It's been hours, I still do
About the shape of you

I gave you my world and let you in
You're one of the few
Whom I can count on
To see it through

I wonder where the time went
You hesitated in the end
Before opening your mouth
I finished the sentence

We were young
We had books and years in common
Or I thought it must have been fate
Or the way your hair sat

The sun and the moon
In the same sky, not left out
In the cold darkness

Your love feels right
The night is just right
Because we both have brown eyes
I see yours are darker

As I scour through the layers for hours
Redness of your cheeks make them beautiful
Its the simple act of loving someone
That makes me feel so good about brown eyes

When I wanted to have hazel ones
That look purple in dawn
Green in the seaside house
Blue in the reflection of the water

I look deeper into those tiny irises
My sun rises and sets in them
We share the whole day, lost in an embrace
Held by a stare, arms around each other

Wrapping our love in our heads on the first date
I dare you, to love someone like I did you on the first kiss

Blue and blonde
Blonde and blue-eyed baby
A hair full of bliss- Blonde
And head and heart learning their ways in the race- Blue

Innocence
Jewish possessions in ruins
Camps with poisonous flames
And burning hands
Burning in
Brick kilns meant for glass
Prurient Anti-Semitists dancing to their tune
Wie spaß

Tax is a concept
By which you measure governance and each cent from each pocket
Tax is a concept
By which you measure a homeless man’s pain and the hard rain
Tax is a concept
That only adds up but sometimes doesn’t
Tax is a concept
A technique to intercept the poor man’s invasion
Tax is a concept
That funds a government servant’s evasion
Tax is a concept
That requires frequent revision for the privileged 1% division
Tax is a concept
For the rich to market their wealth as a sales pitch
Tax is a concept
That is open ended that helps lawyers find a niche and sometimes a gaping ditch
Tax is a concept
That helped the Untouchables put away that whiny *****
Tax is a concept
That takes the interest out of the spooks
I don’t believe in being rich
If I have to pay more I think that’s a glitch
I don’t believe leaving it all to the middle class
If I criticize it the government shows a lot more sass
Tax is a concept
If it wasn’t it wouldn’t be in books and in the salaries of prison cooks
Tax was a concept
That kept out of it the clergy mooks
Tax was a concept
That kept a nobleman’s coffers’ ostentatious good looks
Tax was a concept
That kept death at bay
Tax was a concept
That contributed to the dead everyday
Tax was still a concept
If it wasn’t then in Germany there wouldn’t have been any bread for each day
Tax is still a concept
It still pays the rich and takes from the rich *****
Who has the lawyer who is smarter than Tom Sawyer
I don’t believe in law and order
I just believe in world order and peace

I wish
To set myself on fire
But, people will talk
Of how I lost the courage to live on

Because that is what they do
In their solitary spaces behind
Church pews and library desks
They remember the few

Some remember them by words
And others keep their ashes
Visit their tombs years later
But, I know my books will be made of the regret that's left

Women will swoon over those coy lines
Their children will hear the tales
That I had concocted on a lonely night
When I gave you my everything

Sometimes in a disco
I find myself lost in the music
Immersed in the lyrics
Of the sounds
Like the wasps *******
from the nectar
Unaware of the pollen
Flower dances
In the love of creation
And nuance

Get up, Stand up
Stand up for your rights
Don't believe the hype

Inspiration is that gut feel keeping you awake
Inspiration is a candle in a cave

Inspiration is asking a crush out
Inspiration is confidence when everything turns sour

Inspiration is the silver lining
Of a cloud riddled by self-doubt

He was easy as a breeze on the outside
He had a raging storm inside
Busy searching for the stop signs
And the turns kept passing him by

Wake up my light
O' mighty god light my morning
Like you light up my packs like the impoverished morning
In the cool cool

Of evenings, let's fly out
Too short of words, o'er is he becoming him
Her becoming his or was she becoming her edict of nights brighter
Stars lighter up mulled

The wine I can try freely ransack and robed freeloaders get me
Blues on her bag, speak of cusp
It's almost time, to leave your satchel
That will carry my words, too soon

If you pursue a flower
With the aim to pluck
You cannot appreciate the scent

I think I can say that
You cannot be a friend to her
If you think about possessing her beauty

You know the funny
Thing about life is that
Schools teach about science
Your parents teach you religion
Green grass teaches play
And leaves teach you about grass
When you move in an aeroplane
They seem small
But, to them you are another plastic bag
That flies by whenever no one is looking
Just like that life finishes
The music stops and the fire dies
All that remains are legacies and grave gestures
I may be a little far off topic
I think I am making a point
But something holds me back
It is the beauty of poetry
Or the medium of stories
Life is a bit of a journey now
Where everyone shares their stories
Along the way and they become your friends
I just don't know how I made enemies
Is it science, no
Religion, definitely

Sitting on the bench, hontoni arigato and hakagawa bows
Brushing my hair, thankful for a different language
Touching my knees, thank you errantly erroneously
Sit and gardens stare
Wildflowers in two words
Twos often wonder what was the word
Parallelogram vans wish they could be sentences
Pass me with the deans
Two summers bravery Illmatic plays
Slavery washed on me and flowed words with wabi-sabi
Ignorantly searching for simplicity, and intercepting
Lugging learned that he was sober and insightful
Things change inciting when he says I love you, but, I lost Arizona, leaving with LA pallbearers speaking in hymns for the lost weekend
When the two words, change to three words
And the different hangovers for different times
For the lively souls, rap still pays a visit to the nation that held millions, front and back
There lies a line of shining boundaries on the war that fire
Moving like a lava lamp
Back again, frontal lobe pulsates those ups and downs
Delightful lively and where did I lose my shine, and the fire of eyes flickers with the midnight spoon of flickering night streets
Uh soon, **** is a disease masking the ability to change
Politics is where greed wears the mask of morality
But, **** man the less I know them better, right
in the circus of an ersatz clown, as the frugal fire of the murders of the shining and the power of music, burning your conviction in my heart
Dying with the fires of hell, anecdotes of simple fools who can understand simple things
Fools are the wise men when they learn to sharpen their knives
Leave themselves in the sharp mouth of gorillas in the lava iridescent friends, grins writing your heart, your light, your life like a monolith
I miss your thoughts and knowing, and adding what's my own
What can I add to New York state of Mind, does the midnight strike the good night, and ask it to be gentle
As morning cup of tea of burning brilliance of dull months of April under the arid love, that's a moral desert I cannot stop, I'm on the road of life, the battered suitcases catch the candor of deserted times under the train, had it told me you'd to leave the intrigue of the speakeasies, with your French look and glib iridescence of shyness, Canadian stealing cars under the mobsters that leap out
Falling in love and breaking bad would start chasing you
Understanding good and evil, I've been the prisoner of the holy child
Antediluvian time and all that crap, mice among men we crawl the streets in the friend that remembers on the outside
Familial uproar bringing up the baby under the ****** footprints, under drama and cine lights
Life needs a little soul, and a little love to grow imaginative
These years go by, and the pensive life doesn't find solace in good company on the streets belonging to the streetlights, and angry streets with desolate angels

Desolation angels looking for their place in the sun
Fortifying a lot of observation, and marching band with their meters
Challenging themselves, music and jazz, we talk about inconsistency of the eon
Poems, of thee Buddhahood looking for a friend, in the supernatural darkness
Sagacious beams from the life dedicated to accepting the life of cause and effect where I had only but silence
My faction of the Eastern Bloc, we are looking in all directions and running in de jure circles
Facts of scientific, joking in your book and hysterical and naked surly curs on the fruit covered by the dust, I need to embellish these claps
In the fire times, of the watered Cupid in the Venus allegorical girl
Beezlebub lost his mind paraphrasing in Hell, arrived in Lucifer on the cross steeple
In the land of milk and honey, in the passion of the church
I'm laughing at my typing, and the technology has changed and so have the women
I'm the living embodiment of a ceiling now, spinning like an embryo or test tube vestibule
How am I gonna survive on the ability to live like someone has committed suicide for me tonight as it grows hoarse
Stand the generous suicide, it was painless
You know o'er head her still face has madcap laughter at her soundful something, I don't know after I climb the ladder and yell this is the answering bell to doors of Heaven and Hell's doormat, I am a plenary one
Virile yelling on the catatonic piano, we are imagining peace and lost like a dreamer, just like the flower that grows like the uncle in Albert, we just lost our only photographer from the ashram

Getting off the economic crisis
Going through the homesick blues
Getting down to the Memphis Delhi Blues
Getting to play the Memphis city blues
Stopping momentarily in the famed deli line
For a meal and some country wine
Had an Indian Curry
Reminded of my home
Back in big ole Delhi

Shipping my way back to Texas
To play the blues
To grab honey pork ribs and black beer too
In Black’s Barbecue
As my guitar licks through a Gibson Les Paul steak
I go home to my wife and has she has baked a lovely chocolate cake

I’m going down to the Memphis Delhi Blues
To pay my dues
For coming to the US five years back
By cruise
By gambling in Las Vegas emptying chip rack after chip rack

I do win in this game of sin
And I finally pay everything back and have save some too
To finally get away from being blue
To get back to my Ma and Pa back in Delhi
Who have been waiting for me lately

I’ll get back to them in Delhi
First I have to leave the blues
Down in Memphis city

I joust myself into jovial life
Jocose tatterdemalion and stygian salaciousness
Umbrage abrogating merit like swamping locusts
The mammoth chip on shouldered kids starving for life
I'm waiting on purgatory, and I'll wait for you with knives out
Cemetry of the artist stubbed beards and pubescence in the Phoenician Lands
He said she should have left the house
Tomahawks can still cut the vineyard, make my loquacity into beer-tap poetry
Flowery, murmur, kumbaya, kalimba de la soul and all thoughts aside
You're hoping music brings the song to my speechless heart
Your dance sounds light the motionless night, only the tapping of starry footsteps
Hob-nobs, more and more, knobs of heaven's doors open to every hippie with angel hair
Crossing the wires of substrates
Sonatas and partitas can be lugubrious, yet, elegantly examined
Nocturnes, from the centuries

Of ten old centurions
Came down to the Colosseum
Gladiator enthralled the chariots of fire
I was with ten ants, burning under the microscope
Tenants of this Roman Empire

Fighting for your rights
Fighting for the people who cannot fight
For the weak, requires peace and understanding
Shiny, homeless people lost the soul to the drugs and marijuana smoke under streetlamps stretching to infinity
This earth is an orchard of flowers
Slightly plump in the middle, it's mother nature
Not zaftig, it has latitudes and longitudes
Lavish life, garish fiefdom, stretches across the bent imagination of perverse minds
Looking for a kiosk in the peak of red skies that do not know blood and aggravation
New Year's Day, the cyka cry Mother Russia and SOS
Shooting flares into the sky
To reach so low, and to reach so high
Shouting slogans, written by the poets
Passion, prejudice, sensibility, comradery these are metiers of poets
Secrets strewed across the bloodless sky
Wishful thinking tantamount to head in the clouds
The clouds have different shapes and size, the fire of the greater existence lends us words in thoughts

The poet in me washes away
The calling card of the hero
Fades away like age
Tossing the leaves in the summer breeze
For the old people
With my hand
I look at the secret spot of poets
It's under a sycamore tree
Full of metaphor and rhyme
My hand is raking leaves
As I search for my deeply buried
Poetry

I witnessed ******
The body inside
With inside frigidly
Probably tampered with
After the authorities left
The same lascivious lady
Was in the house for couple of seconds
Before I had entered
I had just run my errands
Knife lay on the floor
Gun lay far from the door
Policeman probably accompanied
The criminal along the way
Carry the along the weight
Disrupting the interiors
As the rug
Makes the crime bloodier
Blood
Of Red wine
Lay on the Floor
I managed to break

Some of my women are now accidents
But the trust never dies
During the dusk
In the loitering heart there is a disease

I could call ghosts
Closer, yearning for youth
If they were afraid of affection
Machiavelli
Hey, they couldn't feel our love
For Raphael too
They couldn't paint white on our faces
Pale as the moonlight
Fearful of the darkness
In case it overshadows the sun
In the blindness
Which is a touch truant
Incurring divinity
Keeps us from our stars
And luck keeps us in ours
Luck, Celestial
Flows through the solar system

Happy roses on the parade, he was waiting for the 2 years to arrive
The album cover love the lover's wilting love in on Jesus' daughter in a tree, lovely sails it had
They fell when the autumn had arrived, **** your darling buds
Pygmies digging holes in the soil in their hearts of toil, falling prudently
Like leaves, the red justice, gold *****, in a curlicue of extra circulars

Touch on the washed-up Gurudeva, fixing holes in the faucets, the sunshine shines on our bad news, save us the supernatural darkness
The superstition of the Siamese cat, and the weeping lady
The flow is getting better, make love could we ever escape dark days and escape the midnight shines like good fillers on hydrogen delight, stars in the stare looking for the assets to darkness
Moonchild roses remembering the supermarket in America, that changed them, those who were pleased with the peaches incarnate in the cries of the last radio of the gold heads, buses of the sunflower tin cans
That cried an Eli book of poems, show me in the radiant illuminating blue eyes

I am walrus, I can make these songs okay touch tough but it was right to be alright
Ending a letter to Lennon on the twelfth night, the wrong from my lenience
My liege, my childhood here hath Earth omnipotent in areolar sprayed aerosol cans, we long these round holes and surmise of free prose in the inner moon
Light up the sadness

Album cover acrid as the midnight spoon, feeling sentimental
Tumescent buildings, my cheer, without imagination
You don't deserve possessions, you shot down dead weight
Carry the shine, in the confines of a painless razor of lacrosse, Billy shears brushing your head
I'm shaving my head, with the crowd in an instantaneous hung jury in the situation in the dalliance with the forgotten underwear, ******* my collegiate thumb
I want to write my own stuff with natural ecstasy and alliance of the hung jury in the psychotherapy, and the ******* ministerial preacher, saying please please me

You said you were
Struggling with the bugs, Pam
In your head, and hung bedbugs in your childish core, of faith as a person who loves the sibilant sounds
When I laugh as my head comes out of the plastic nation
Freed and staring into the distance, Ono here in the ballad hearin' sound laughter

Lead your path
To thine light ad thine veritas
There is thy will in every bright thought in
We thought up a bed, filled hat across the new man

We are not scared among the ranged beats, were dreaming style
Derailed from the tabula rasa, and waterfalls and lose our happiness in the morning
And search for the under in our childish souls

Hanging out in rainbows in cyclones  swirling like idiot winds
And they call me dumb, a bad person in studied simplicity
Simplicity is the kind of loving, giving the kindness of taking it gently
Failure is simply the opportunity to begin again, this time more searchingly

Already finding the end of life's meaning in the puddles of love
Find yourself in mother nature, and you can apply yourself, my friend my water, my shapeshifting friend and left the flower
And leave someone's shadow as we grow fond of the light, we start wondering if the starry skies in patched blackberries

Bloodied by the day
Murderous by the hour
The pen of journalism
Has got us
Hooked by the power
Swords are history
Still they are the fences
Of conduct and the boundaries
A tip of the hat
To old society
So I guess the pen is mightier than the sword
When you take down flowers
When you look at the newspaper
By the war of words

In the evening
Demands of fluttering hearts
The swaying of
Leaves
Through the dusty breeze
A priest that preaches
about the fruits of life
I guess I'm just fond of
Nectarines
In a season
Of reasonably rose peaches

It's nice
But, I don't know
Where
Are my friends

The bells tolling and gallow stools
Carved by a crisp knife sharpened by a stone flint-shaped among the garden tools
The molded and weak rose like the solid and stolid coveting
The dolorous limelight seekers were sure about the fun settling
The call-in your wake is sure to make you disagree, subversively
Pretentious till it leads me into ruinous states, with each verse
Troubled and telling about the stoic salacious dread, of your *******
The sins and arresting rebels brought you minister and spirit
The apologetic and shrieking in their walls their apologies
Am I the only one, who thinks
They don't change their disposition
Time I'm tearing you up into fragments
My stories are getting caught up in their endings
Caught by the hook of standing on the ceiling, rear-ended
The knee-deep hell, mountain high harp, what the ****!
Reelin' and rockin' in heaven, indeed purgatory calls your bulls and porgies
Greed and corporeal blood and recipe for dreadful disaster, and luck you yammer about out-and-out too
It's in your flesh and bones, ****** vain too
Feels like time is slipping and sliding out of my oval face and hateful hands
The friends you seek to hold you when you're ready?
Blows, busy days, France in its hey-day had some passion rather saints who come marching in
Are you ready to read your death in the newspapers, when your stomach lurches like holes in the air
Or here from storytellers like a burnt legacy, in the papers that herald flying guns and leveraging politics
And hate, rising with the ashes, the education burning blue like a phoenix
Apogee, really, after so many a doubt and clusterfuck of redactions, I'm ready to learn about counted visage among the many faces on a business street
About my attraction to nature and fantastic reality, I'm jumping with joy
But, smaller than the cosmic bubble that keeps us from dying
I can tell no one, this is our one and only time with faded humor
You're breeding and you're dying with famished and frayed daughters of petulant sons believing hilarious rumors
I am dismembered much to my won't, the stentorious frolicking reeks around astute anecdotes of my pain of having a name
Even it's a fake one and adopted by pretty old me
The antidote of all this, love and peace, it must be the end of fashion and integrity
Peace and love cradling the waves wandering in mystery
Walking among the feet of trembling rage hungry for power, our love is just an island, but, not the little flower that just matured
If I engender myself, I will be free from being prematurely always on
Smidges and shakes for the collared contingent of successful women
For the one, surreptitiously resting under the invisible sun, sticking out their necks for none
Smack her flesh across till light turns still
The center light pops in expectation of blue days and flooring her money on her mind
On the reeling hail, tying the wrong laces and pushing wrong buttons
I left the hall crazed and surprisingly fully-dressed
Snake-like heads facing away from each other with their smothering hands around my neck
I unhand my royal touch and my license for the cream-crop
Not sure about my violence and clammy hands, but, my old man didn't like it all that much
Handing the trembling papers of my record for another dispensary
The errands that I have to run, I would recommend this to no one
Watching movie reruns and playing my new dreams in my trailer park, every time she was the one
Tea and teeming, brink and livid feeling, reelin' with the great high upstart
Cosmopolitans and Neapolitans, I'm probably going play to Jupiter jazz for another meridian of Earth
Red rain splaying like the sand Andalusian like, waving my hands care-free, only to slam my self down easily
Into another speakeasy with a wake-up call and nightcap, dusk till dawn
The day seems brighter and the sun scintillating like the queenie-eyes on the resting sunshine on the iridescent soil
Ecstasy open miles ahead, the eyes lay in peace and capacious lamps full of soul food and meals
Like lamps and little lintels, the coruscating fire makes the colors of the day seem much more real
The tears in Heaven are adjusted for a place in my salvation
Vitriolic, but, mellifluous in it's surmise, you're sure about the music you're hearing
Crouching upon old times like washed memories
Or is it the waters of the ocean afar from snake-like repellent waves of the oceanic dreams
The snake passes by, in the time of your lifeless soul
You were just pacing yourself, the motto is "Always look your prime and best"
They are your true reflection, this is the one and only reflective surface I will attest to, lest I sound sanctimonious
Bo vine and in vino veritas, you're ecstatic about auriferous objects
Sheep and tipping civilization with the conquest of the times, and the same sundial from Eratosthenes that made citadels
The conquest of Troy is any different from the present oligarchy
Librarian of Alexandria, and the Trojan horse of cursed hands mixed with the opportunity
A couplet for a couple of composite numbers is enough to tempt the prime number
In showing up in your  classes brimming with achievers, some students among them
Eratosthenes' sieve is diligent work on simplicity, so yes, whoever reads this, the wake-up call is not a snake bite
This is Stoicism, and poetry is stoic writing cannot be duplicated
The moral could be looking at hopeless dreams, helplessly
Just passing by without shedding any of it on your probity

My boughs can take on storms
The roots can hold on to wet lands
What lies in the heart of a blue sky
My eyes are lonely and shy

You were my biggest weakness
My strongest desire

She made life
Out of loving
Lips touched with ease
Hot and beautiful
Her sultriness
Add their
Minds
Tilted
Towards each other
Like Heads
Bobbing
Over
Cold Water
Keeping each
Other worldly and warm

It's flowers and perfume
When it's you
It's poems and books
When I'm with you

It's songs and guitar
When it's you
It's four o clock
When I'm with you

I'm in my head all alone
But my heart knows you're the one

An exam
Taken
In the subject
life
For a better life

On The Blazing Bus
The Oranges have a deeper blue
Republicans
For Us
Than the what we've read in the news
The smoke
That billows
Swallows
The education that
You could've sold
Rising with the use
Drowning in the fumes

If you're drunk too much
You're sleepin'
The child's gone
The slave's life is forgotten
For a couple of bucks in vain
Should help you make it the through the wintery night
In nature, we see the light, if the dark persists in the cloudy night.

I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm
No more
She’s my loving me indeed
But she won’t hand me a part of the deed
She told me this in the stable
In the morn’ at four

I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm
No more
I was serving dinner on the table
As she suddenly took my blackened arm
In servility I took her lustful kiss
And as expected she sent me away to the stable

I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm
No more
She’s treating me like fertilizer
Only I’m not white
And out of her food I don’t get a bite
Out of her blood I don’t get a right

I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm
No more
I gonna **** her
I don’t want live to die no more
I want to escape
From tilling her land
And her life shall
Go to Lucifer
To save me command
I’ll accept my title
As landowner
But I’ll still be a farmer

I walk through the Savannah
I've learned to crawl
To hunt and at my prey I gnaw

My stomach's bursting with 20 kilos
My thirst is quenched with 5 gallons of water
My fate away from nature's gallows

But when I think of you
My mouth gets back its piquant affinity as if I can still eat
My throat gets dry because of your charms and heat

Your love brings a sense of emptiness
And your *** brings back the youthful craziness

You cannot overwater
A plant because you missed a day
And expect it to grow
The same way