Monday, August 3, 2015


God is always a damn excuse
for receiving someone's abuse.
Killers who hear voices.
Folk who say they'd no choices.
Politicians who wish to strike
a country that is to their dislike.
"God is dead" a philosopher said,
but he's there in many a wrong head.

Kick an underdog when he lies down
and that beast can turn around
and bite. Feed him well do
and he'll often be loyal to you.
An underfed-underdog doesn't hang around !

The girl looked lush
in the film-rush.
They edited her scene,
which she thought mean.
But her role as a hooker
they agreed was a sucker.

There's the girl once again
drinking in the bar,
awaiting the imaginary letter
that will come from afar:
'Miss Nobody from Nowhere
we'll go make you a star !'

But fame and fortune
won't come her damn way.
No talent and no grades,
her future's looking grey.
A typecast drunk is
a role she might play !

You are a red rag to a bull,
you are the red rage in his skull.
He sees red, he smells blood,
taken for granted girl, misunderstood,
he'd now knock you to the floor
were you a man. He can't take more
of being used, of being abused
as to his good nature, see him lose
all control, but you he'll not gore.
Not because you're the master-lady-matador !

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