This is my poverty
not yours
these are my legs, crossing
not yours.
i shall never pass
i shall never throw up
this is not my soul
these are merely my lies
my handfull of wierdness
defining my once poetic soul
here is my poverty!
it dances through my once crossed legs!

in me it shines
in me takes refuge
begging for mercy

here it is
you can take it
its yours now

in my eyes that shine
not once with despair
for my soul of wooden heart
and all that is poor now
all that is yours