A Small Plot Of Land
Poor soulSpit upon that poor soulHe never knew what hit himAnd it hit him soPoor dunceHe pushed back the pigmenThe barbs laughedThe fool is dead
Poor dunceHe's less than within usThe brains talkBut the will to live is deadAnd prayer can't travel so far these daysThe talk of your lifeStanding so nearTo innocent eyesPoor dunce
Swings through the tunnelsAnd claws his wayIs small life so manic?Are these really the days?Poor duncePoor dunce
Poor soulPoor soulPoor soul