With all the wrinkles of my struggles,
With all the bruises of my hustles,
With all tears shed on dead-beds,
With all the hope that became a grave,
With all the wishes that died before they could blossom into promises,
With all the dreams that received graves before their lives,
With all the withouts of needs that made life a living hell.

Life was meant to be celebrated not feared,
With every breath I took that suffocated every wish to see the ray of the next day,
With folded arms and closed eyes,
With tongue tied souls that lost the appetite of dreams,
Conspiring leaves spoke the truth to my heart,
Beneath this tree I stand with a necklace on my hands

A jewellery that would grasp the last breath of my soul in painful beauty,
What's more in the bag of my life?
Long regrets of promises that paint purple creatures mute to my soul,
Where the grass sings hymns of death and love in the same chorus,
With last hope to my tail,
I toss this painful life of mine into the hands of my creator,
To do as he pleases,

Dangling from sides like a drunkard prostitute
Howling memories of my youth,
My life is a statue, just that no one comes to take picture of me with them,

In God I trust though,
One day he shall breath life into my statue life,
I would be granted the permission to laugh with lif