Once upon a time there was a man that walked on the road,
Slipping and swerving his steps, almost hit several times by
a car like a toad,
This story was once never told,
But now it's time to unfold,
And lose control,
Upon this man that can’t grab a hold,
On to his life,
Every day he has a knife,
Not for offense against his self,
But any one else,
That brings harm his way,
He cries and searches and finds nothing every day,
No matter how hard he tries
And how loud he cries,
No one ever pays attention but they do wonder why,
Why the hell he roams these streets,
Why he screams to the stars “what the hell is wrong with
me?”
No one can understand and see,
They want to believe,
That this person or nuisance of a sort,
Doesn’t exist and oh yes of course,
He has a problem, something is wrong with his head,
But you would you help if he was about to drop dead?
No I think not; you would just sit there and watch him bleed
red,
Because now a days people and self-conceded they hold shit
in,
But they need to show some sympathy in the end,
So they can be forgiven for their sins,
That they’ve held on to for so long,
And so strong,
They hold everything they own so tight,
And you wonder who is that hollering at night,
Well this story I tell,
Is about man that fell,
Down when humans used to fight for each other,
Not against one another,
Which we all have discovered,
As a problem brought upon society,
Look at what this cruel world has done to you and me,
Change it, fix it, make it right and believe,
That this tell that is told is one for eyes to see,
That anything can change, but you have to be that change,
now do your best, and alter this corrupted story……..

A story known as life,
Where everyday is a fight,
To survive to live,
To see what others do and what they did,
Before life began,
There was no man,
Just peace,
That’s why in a way we are nothing but parasites,
To this world, this place in which we dwell,
If this continues, sooner or later,
 We will all be parasites of Hell……


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