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Who do i turn to,The greens or its roots;
To man to God, To bear me some fruits. My tongue lay in wait for it's juices to fill my emptiness,
Retire my restlessness
And pose my dying Joy a mate.
Drowning is I
In deep waters of overflowing grief;
With my mouth having no spoon to kiss,
Hunger's matrimony my thorax's miss.
There is no measure to my lack
For my wants I strive but an inch
alone on hope's shoulders I clinch,
Drowning is I.
The now's survival and its struggles un-nice
A donkey and a needle hole it is;
Where for a few grains of rice,
Morality is sold Oh Oh it is.
How then would I survive the now's struggles?
Face the fight and manage the grass they say
But how's that?
Chew my cord??!!
How can I chew my cord?
When I have more than four stomachs to feed.
How can I swing my sword?
When all I do is fall off and bleed;
Being the only one in the pack,
My defenselessness leaves me with no attack.
So who do I turn to,
for the now are the days of the grasshopper;
To God or man?
For a miracle, a saviour or a comforter...