i write for free,

like my style is for free,

the word like is never used,

true poets attest to this,

i am sitting next to a freckly,

young thing sighing out loud,

i wish she could say what is on her chest–

out loud.

i am quickly running out of excuse like ;

an accused excuse me miss,

here is my open hands up in the sky,

hammer wannabe you can touch this.



who are they to tell me who to love?

i can be called all sorts of names,

live life miserable but,

i will never say i love her.

who are they to tell me who to love?

money is just part of life not me,

everybody has to work hard,

you have heared all this advise before,

i am not fazed by people who look at me badly,

they are the same as those who wink at me,

i should be given a chance to live easy life,

i have never been a difficult man and;

i shall never let someone change me.