he was born in the city
he had no home
he no place to turn to
he was on his own
he had no mamma
he had no father
he had no friends
nobody to call on

what was I to do

Can you picture this sad true story
a young child of 13
one without hope
no home sweet home
no happy memories
with only God to wish to
living on the streets

struggling to eat
struggling to sleep
trying to be a man
but still a trembling child inside

and all alone

OK, let me seem to be the one "devil" not to honour,
A man is great enough to get the "universe's message" out,
More than 200,000,000 tune in every Sunday
To hear him, the great works fools fantasize about.

"Informing" people why they were born, what the powers are,
Tell us all about these three kings/wise men following a star,
"It's all mind candy, I tell you!" But then I'm silenced,
These people are at the top for being ignorant near and far.

They give us these messages, love each other, don't ****,
Then they bring the Saviorettes out, lambs off of battlefield,
And they bury them with gun in hand, Davy Crocket style,
There is some sort of irony in this, one that is in denial.

So I ask you why these people will spend millions,
Will fall upon their knees in front of a stupid T.V.
This farm slop, this pig wig god, in the endless billions,
To tell you what became of what you call "true history?"

Walking in the garden,
I stepped onto the grass
Barefoot,
And revelled in the tingles
On the soles of my feet
That made me smile.

The grass was wet.
Absently, I sat myself down
And felt the grass in my hands...
'The grass is wet,' I thought,
'It feels nice, cool and peaceful,
But water doesn't catch fire...'

*Can the fire inside me burn in serenity?
Or will it burn out my peace
And c
          o
           n
          s
         u
         m
           e
               me?