Trees dance to the music of the light wind,
Each blade of grass soft against the skin,
Dreams and ambitions of the lost float by,
It wasn’t what they said: free from sin.
Happy, free from troubles and pain,
Misery and poverty will cease to exist,
They lied and now there is no going back,
Back to the family that I so dearly miss.
A rich mans paradise,
A poor mans pain,
For a home without my family,
Is no home to be gained.
Here I sit,
Writing this lonely poem,
Heaven isn’t what they said it would be,
And a bullet is what I owe them.