There is always something messing up our lives.
Our only gift is to learn from
The messes others have made in life.
If you can do that then you get
Another gift, the foretelling of the messes.
Once you have mastered that skill,
You earn another task and that becomes
Your sixth sense.
Today, in this day and age,
You people cannot recognize gifts.
You do not see what is and isn't special.
You speak one language,
The language of greed.
Even I have spoken that language, pasteducid.
Shame…shame…sadness…
You think a gift
Is something given to you by someone
Who purchased it at WalMart.
A gift is something deep,
Filled with love and has more value
In sentiment than in money value.
Filthy…filthy…sadness…
It isn't fair that you weren't raised
In the community that I was raised in,
It's sad. I value our mother earth
As you ruthlessly slaughter her.
You have no convictions doing so,
Money is not a good reason.
Whatever mind power you were born with
Has been terribly destroyed by your
Coming of age, you lacked the required strength
To contain it and you let it out.
Had you a stronger mind,
You could have held onto it a bit longer,
But you and your kind,
You left these gifts go because
You feel you could obtain better things.
Selfish…selfish…sadness…
You wallow in greed and you build yourself a house
And fill it with things for you.
You don't care to give to charity,
To those who have nothing.
You don't donate to anything to anyone
Because you want everything for yourself.
I give; at least I give what I can,
And I ain't rich, and I ain't worth much,
But I'll be damned if I'm gonna
Walk by a hungry homeless person and
Give them nothing. I do give.
I give my bus fare, and I walk home.
You've no compassion. You've no concern
For those who die under the bridges
That you drive over to go to work.
You would have made a decent person
Had you not lost your gifts;
Had you not wasted your time.
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