Poems

Poor, poor thing, don't pick on yourself

Don't you know all that horrible ain't good for yourself?

If you can't find no tolerance, nor good for yourself

Talk to your friends (go)

'Cause there's more, more, more, more fickleness out there

Where everybody's standing in the middle like Malcolm

Tragedy cannot be helped if you're out there

But you ain't the only one that's scared

That's why I write these poems

Carry the words of the unspoken, yeah

I got my ears and my eyes open in every room that I go in, go in

'Cause they don't hear us on the radio

And they don't hear us when we feeling low

But I got my hand and my heart

Open for every sorrow you mope in, mope in, yeah

RIP, Trevor, I send my love to your family in these endeavours

I send condolences, my ****, Bigz, keep your head up

Why does it feel that the tragedies have fucking sped up, sped up

All of these woes opposite the pleasure?

I know it's easy to ostracise, but stick together

Good times are on the horizon, even if you're fed up

I feel the pain of the people, that's why I well up, well up

That's why I write these poems

Carry the words of the unspoken, yeah

I got my ears and my eyes open in every room that I go in, go in

'Cause they don't hear us on the radio

And they don't hear us when we feeling low

But I got my hand and my heart

Open for every sorrow you mope in, mope in, yeah

I hear the words that ain't spoken, yeah

I hear them out in the open, yeah

I know that love can be provoking (yeah)

That's why I go back to smoking

When I can't let out what my mind's antidoting, 'doting, yeah

I've got some pain, I've got to take to the grave, Darg (it's okay)

I tried to cry, but, no, it won't go away, nah (it's okay)

I look my mate Greg in his eyes, see the pain that he hides

But when he looks at me, I know he can see mine

I put this pen to this paper to make a change

And if the end is close, my poetry remains

'Cause in the end, we're gonna die, and I hope I do not fry

My sin's the only reason I'm alive

That's why I write these poems

Carry the words of the unspoken, yeah

I got my ears and my eyes open in every room that I go in, go in

'Cause they don't hear us on the radio

And they don't hear us when we feeling low

I got my hand and my heart

Open for every sorrow you mope in mope in, yeah