I thought some people I knew were pillars
Upon which my future time would take place,
Until the day they turned to be killers,
Murderers of trust, murderers of pace.
They arrayed their mansions with the bright days,
On their balconies flowers full of life
Yet behind their walls their mean foul ways
Gave birth to a wicked death bearing knife.
Out of their bewitching houses, in fear
I ran and gathered myself in my dink,
Away from the fraudulent I did steer
Through the river of dignity and ink.
In my lonely times, I search and I seek,
Then I find the wisdom of which I speak.