On the junction of the pale street I sat
Covering my sorrows with my hat.
In the pool of despair I wallowed
Hoping in it’s midst I’m swallowed.

At the crossroad of pain I stood
Asked by myself, “why rejected by my hood”?
Tis that I owe luck it tax?
As it splits me up with its axe.

Loving was all I wanted
But sacking was what I was granted.
I wished to loot banks for love
But drained on the crucifix was my love.

On the empty streets I travel
Seeking answers for my to unravel.
As I hear the churchbell ring
I knew my goodbye, the birds sing.

Whistling away its tune is the wind
Making creaking sounds with the hinge.
I hear the tune not worthy if its voice
Who in the world would make this choice?

Walking in the town of pain
With love ceasing to rain.
Making dry my lips
As I breath into my ribs.

Looking up from my spot;
I knew I was caught.
Scanning through my eye
My worries you diagnosed.

Ye raised the beating of hearts
Like the war drum with chants.
Knowing my lack will make me rot;
I was fed love from the broken pot.

A feast I never will quit
If forever, then so be it!
Decorating me with the words of royalties.
As I jolly about like teletabies.
Cos’ from the broken pot,
I was fed love.

Haymaker © 2015