roasted
toasted
and burnt to a crisp
I wish these thoughts in my head didn't exist
my heart
my soul
my fist
I could walk away from all of this
children making other children eat paint chips
my love for any other is fading quick
it is enough to make any sane man sick
I question my reasons for holding on
I have the dead mans hand
and I am about to fold
from the minute we were born
through the period of growing old
we are sold
stripped of our clothes
and robbed of all of our gold