6/8/09

People going everywhere,
Doing their own thing.
Some happy, some sad.
Business people,
Parents with children,
All fitting in.

I hate my body,
Squeeze spots of pus.
The reflection in the mirror,
Tells me, I am a wuss.

A wuzz for not fitting in,
A wuss for hiding the shame.
I'm disabled, and different,
I don't fit into the game.

If had a farthing, for
every little shame,
I'd be a millionaire-
like on celebrity whats it name.

But I've no job, no self respect, no farthing.
My wage is the welfare system,
the Giro, my darling.

I might as well be labelled inferior
And gassed in Hitlers cleansing programme.
I cry when I sing this song, my eyes,
Water, as if I knew all along.
I'll never be the one to meet the grade--
I'm too pushy, too weak, too lame.

All along I sat on the back burner, the fence.
Far too long, i've been given recompense,
For a disease of the mind,
A disease, i think of as normal,
When hungry minds salivate,
They salivate over Jorden