Bad Days
By Paul B
Bad days of rage and pain Of death and murder, violence and lies I see the pictures and I feel the same, Collective madness, an anger that defies. My brother, my cousin, friend you are not You spat on my hand and you spat in my face Well, to hell with you, in hell shall you rot Put there by my hand, your land laid waste But my brother you are, From that truth we never veer Though it sticks in my throat, Like death, our most primordial fear My Brother, my cousin Kinsfolk we are, Love and hate Water and fire Written December 8th, 2001 © on Dec 08 2001 07:30 AM PST 18 • 0 • 1
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"Bad days of rage and pain..."