You told the shaman, you told
the shaman about your exquisite
worries and now you’re enlightened.
How come you never told me, your
peasant, your common beggar?
So tell me, do I leave thy soul’s
I expect homely pennies for your
homeless complaints; to live in me
payment is habitual!
So you talk to sages and witches and
they leave you with magic in your eyes,
yes, they put wands in your hand.
You better tell me something and
you better come with payment.
I am nothing but a man.
poetry by leaveyouapen