Been writing these words in hopes of changing minds, changing the grind
changing the time we have to change our lives
And still I find nothing changes for the poor, the not so old ones with goals still challenging the old ones having had a soul once

The banker says you need to show your score and all the time they be trying to re-organize you to pay a little bit more but quickly showing you the door when they discover you are really all about the very thing you came to see them about, just being poor.

Still you dream of winning the lottery and sharing it with your make believe posse
They’d be all so dam happy and you could be the big savior, the lord of hope
While they reach out to grab your offered stash rescuing them from another night on the dope, the only thing that make them cope, with the sacrifices they have made, the many pounds of flesh they’ve paid, the constant blame for having to put out only to have them wash out the shame from their mouth in preparation for their communion biscuit served by their religious mystic, drinking wine to wash down the lies while praying for yesterday’s forgiveness and tonight the banker will be negotiating to drop your rate for cheap mate, showing a soft warm heart and a hard meter, come morning its just another bankers day with a meter softer than water and a stone cold heart, nothing changes for those seeking a fresh start, just being poor.

Chorus
Hold on, hold on, to that one voice in your head, the one that tells you better times are ahead, the one that soothes you the one that loves you the one that hugs you the one that demands no score, lifts you off the floor, the best of dates no negotiations of rates, the greatest lover your body’s security cover, always going to be yours for each and every hour, will never show you the door for just being poor.

Dragging your tired bones in the door, putting the milk on the counter kissing your daughter asking if she could fetch you a glass of cold water and her older brother gets dress in his private corner as they prepare to face the world both knowing, life doesn’t get much harder for son and a daughter when the banker who screws their mother for less than one of his dollars will deny her like Peter to the resurrector life doesn’t get much harder for son and a daughter as they walk out the door, just being poor

And your mind replays the same song making hard to tell anymore the difference between the ceilings and the hard cold floors, some call you their angel others whore, many over using the word adore, a few even mention love you as they lose their ability to think straight talking shit about their home date, a quick deflation when you told them you were their old class mate and you remember the banker spouting off about inflation as he lost his retention and you maintained your attention, nobody plays for free when you know they all see, nothing changes for those seeking a fresh start, just being poor.

Chorus
Hold on, hold on, to the one voice in your head, the one that tells you better times are ahead, the one that soothes you the one that loves you the one that hugs you the one that demands no score, lifts you off the floor, the best of dates no negotiations of rates, the greatest lover your body’s security cover, always going to be yours for each and every hour, will never show you the door for just being poor.

Praying at your nightly alter right by the last bus shelter on the north-east corner, avoiding many a faces you know yet having to face your life’s reality you pray this will not be the day, this will not be the way this will not take me away from my helpless darlings waiting for this next magician to perform the one last trick that will end my day so I can again rest this daylight knowing Mr. Potter will not close me tonight and he too will catch his late flight to come and then have his sins wash away.

Here in my gutter surrounded by so many dangers I see so many strangers so many wanderers so many saviors mostly here to rescue my soul with the many stories being told all wanting to safe me, all wanting to taste me, all wanting their very special moment followed by instant forgiveness when all temptation is lost so they carry their very special crosses accompanied with their many convenient excuses but the banker has now made a few passes while sending me his special glances and you know I have to treat him before daylight greets him and he puts me out the door cause nothing changes for those seeking a fresh start, just being poor.

Chorus
Hold on, hold on, to the one voice in your head, the one that tells you better times are ahead, the one that soothes you the one that loves you the one that hugs you the one that demands no score, lifts you off the floor, the best of dates no negotiations of rates, the greatest lover your body’s security cover, always going to be yours for each and every hour, will never show you the door for just being poor.
@Anthony2014mdh30Vibes

Choose Living Over Existing(CLOE)Gender Free Writer(GFW), MartialArts-Auth"The Spirit That Guides Us" "Noir AM""The Lottery" https://twitter.com/dropoutgorgeous

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