my bampa was a minergrafting down a piti recall his chesty cough black lumps in his spitdust of  death for pittancelined a throat so dry filthy lungs but clean heartwith love you cannot buytwelve hours down a holetin tub for a bathprepared with love and care nan placed by the hearthbraving winds and weatherto reach the outside loousing daily newspaperto wipe away the pooso sometimes when i'm downand life gets on my **** remember bampa's life...andwhere he worked, washed, and ****

You get to the pointto where you stub your toeagainst the dining room tableand it hurts like hellbut when you look downand wiggle your toenothing's bleedingor permanently brokenand you keep walking'cause you'd ratherjust get your glass of waterand go back to sleepinstead of wasting timebitching about the unbroken toe'cause sleep is more importantthan some trivial hurtthat goes away,come morning.