Verisimilitude
And i dragged on a cigarette,
Verisimilitude
A child in my eyes, i saw
Broken hands too weak to cling onto redemption
Shaking knees too weak to bow before a God
The strong in their high abodes can’t hear my lamentation
Verisimilitude
Will it ever?
Our prophets are drugged out,
Un-idolised and shattered by our
Surge of needs and wants and our grievances
Verisimilitude
Will it ever?
Music is the poetry
Poetry is the music,
Fuck this; a joint will wipe away the fog
Do our Gods agree?
Do they agree that we’re losing hair?
Just by washing our feet in pot-holed streets
And looking into cracked mirrors
Looking up to ourselves,
Verisimilitude,
Will it ever?
Ask the black lady with the braided hair...
Every braid, every strand is a story too long,
Of long queues to find perfection
Of strenuous burning to bring on beauty from a white land so far
Of stone cold food,
Of aching bellies under cruel suns,
Just ask her,
Verisimilitude
Will it ever?
Ask the boy-cum-girl with the big hands
None but himself can wipe out his tears,
Tears of
Long years in the wrong body
Of days confined to the space of a closet
Just ask her,
Verisimilitude
Will it ever?
Verisimilitude
Will it ever?
I dragged on a cigarette
Watching the world pass me,
I said fuck it,
You won’t change...
Not today, not tomorrow
If you’re still singing yesterday like a new song
Fuck that,
I’ve got redemption in my raging fists!
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