Real World
Minds are melting,
As hearts are beating,
Souls are flying,
As a black man’s killing.
He’s on the road,
Laughing at himself,
All the blood on his hands,
Pulls a book off the shelf.
He stands holding the bible,
Between his hands,
And prays to a god,
for whom, he has no plans.
The police sirens roar,
Away in the distance,
The big bad city,
Where he lives his meek existance.
Nothing more than anything,
Anything’s better than nothing,
For a man who has no hopes,
And again he’d nodding,
Off into his own little world,
Down the pipe again,
up in smoke,
anything to get away from real world pain.
