IN MY MIND
I woke up in the morning,
I realised, the sun still rising in the East
And it still setting in the West,
And the earth move in movement of rotation.
Suddenly my mind came back to reality,
And there she was “my lovely mother”,
Still dreaming that Dad finally realises,
That he does have an alcohol problem,
And search for help, and wishing that my
Little sister will stop using dangerous drugs,
And bring an end to her paranoid illusion.
She “my lovely mother”
Looks at me, with tears running down,
Tears of blood that have lost hope for the world,
But still standing for GOD, she said nothing to me,
But I heard deep in my mind, her wanting to ask me,
When am I going to wake up?
From this little world of mine,
I had no answer for that question,
But I hope GOD does.
I walk out to there streets,
And again, a Rasta man prophecy words,
That he doesn’t understand,
Poisoning the youth mentality with what he call
The holy plant,
On my left, a preacher making the house of the Lord,
A place of business, heaping off a poor man last cent,
Given hope to a man living in misery,
In front of me the ghetto night club so called shabeen,
Advertising alcohol to a youth that is dying,
Social worker trying to raise a man from darkness to light,
Without the Holy Bible on their hand,
But they seen to be the only one that cares.
I woke up in the morning,
I realised, the sun still rising in the East
And it still setting in the West,
And the earth move in movement of rotation.
Suddenly my mind came back to reality,
And there she was “my lovely mother”,
Still dreaming that Dad finally realises,
That he does have an alcohol problem,
And search for help, and wishing that my
Little sister will stop using dangerous drugs,
And bring an end to her paranoid illusion.
She “my lovely mother”
Looks at me, with tears running down,
Tears of blood that have lost hope for the world,
But still standing for GOD, she said nothing to me,
But I heard deep in my mind, her wanting to ask me,
When am I going to wake up?
From this little world of mine,
I had no answer for that question,
But I hope GOD does.
I walk out to there streets,
And again, a Rasta man prophecy words,
That he doesn’t understand,
Poisoning the youth mentality with what he call
The holy plant,
On my left, a preacher making the house of the Lord,
A place of business, heaping off a poor man last cent,
Given hope to a man living in misery,
In front of me the ghetto night club so called shabeen,
Advertising alcohol to a youth that is dying,
Social worker trying to raise a man from darkness to light,
Without the Holy Bible on their hand,
But they seen to be the only one that cares.
