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he fought a war located in a swamp
he returned home with shame and pain
for what he was ordered to do
and for what he witnessed too
he will never be the same so he knocked out a bubble and hit a vein
shooting the spirit of heroin into his tormented demented soul
he fought a slave war and returned to a world that was cold
carrying a heavy load of dysfunctional abilities
disrespected and rejected for fighting for his country
after all that
no wonder he’s a junkie
I cry
water to soil beneath my feet
I cry
water to the seed planted in the street beneath my feet
Cry
roots will push up through the pavement beneath my feet
sprouting me up high
I cry
a burst of light lines the sky and shatters the night
I cry
with the radiant light of the dance of a flaming wick
in a melted waxed out stick
I cry
shell shocking bombs blasting to the beat of Viet Congo drums
throughout the jungle of blown off limbs and body parts
dead babies, crying mothers with broken hearts
For my brothers I cry
I cry, I Cry, I cry
2008 © WIZE DOM
