by catarina clemente
We touched the wall’s of the city streets and,
Sadly showed us our ways,
Of never asking why?
Cast down it was heaven sent (and),
To the church no intent to repent,
On my knees,
Just to cry.
Until you travel to that,
Place you can’t come back,
When the last pain is gone,
And all that’s left is black.
Burning nights, he’s coming to me and,
Someway, he’ll punish my deeds,
And he’ll find,
All the crimes.
But then they ask, when they gunna see them,
Then they gunna ask to feel,
The ghost, the walls, the dreams,
Well I’ve got mine.
At last, those coming came and,
They never looked back,
With blinding stars in their eyes,
But all they saw was black.
Hoping to seem like a sliver of evil,
But the part agreed and,
It’s not a mask,
So be honest with me,
We can’t afford to ignore,
That I’m the disease.
Practical, since we had to be in,
When they were all looking back to me,
And they tried,
Oh they tried.
And when you follow through,
And wind up on your back,
Looking at up at those stars in the sky,
Those white clouds have turned it black.