You're looking at me
asking me, who is to blame...
As I sit wearily on my front porch.
Coffee in one hand and a book in the other...
I'm sorry is a hard thing to ask.
It's almost a question...
Empty here, without your eyes
--Broken, and it's no surprise...
My lips are like heroin,
Much like a sin...
As cold as you.
Dreary thoughts tremble...
There is a fight over you
Two battling away...
The spirits of my ancestors filling my heart
Making me proud, joyful and smart...