He Marches On
Focus now.
Focus now.
Where are we going.
So lost again.
Each idea sits one by one.
Which is right.
Which is wrong.
Especially with a head so gone.
Drained and dry.
Then again the source comes alive.
These' a cop and there's a bribe.
Shake hands when the dirty deal is done.
How can you do that?
Property still intact.
Torn up and converted.
An invisible object that has no meaning.
An broken agreement.
A pack with a devil.
And he marches on.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
Added by Poetry Lover
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