Gunshots every day, they’ve become music to my ears
Every day it’s a battle, a battle that’ll leave the streets messy
The streets have become a battlefield for greedy mankind.
I sit at the darkest corner of Orlando Street
For a moment, I know the streets not.
Multiplication, division, addition or subtraction,
No arithmetic solution to the confusion.
At an hour of mental suppression and spiritual oppression
My mind is explained to be nothing but a demonic possession
I want to escape but for the streets, I have an obsession
I dance in sorrow to the sound of the gunshots,
Dodging bullets across the dusty streets.
I sweat in fear but something in me is languishing
Every bullet penetrates my soul like a bull penetrating ice caps
The street hawkers stare in awe. My heart bleeds.
I run to the south but little do I know, that’s where
Blacks are indicted for larceny, a bullet through my wound
“Oh, not another child soldier,” they say.