But my song is yet to have an end Still
I try, still I hasten It must start and
then bend before it stands In my hands
words must start dancing
Perhaps a parable of streets They're
not safe A fat man scolded me
I gave him a package And a small
sign It read clearly a prophylactic
for your life
And a note of other times One word
makes sense Before they rhyme
I worship gods Only of my own design They
respond only To my face and needs
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