(pain)tbrush of the past

My life was never as perfect as a painting and I was never perfect.

People don’t know me they think they know what I’ve don’t but are sadly mistaken,

When life gets you down what can you do but cry?

But I would say “no not I” and just watch myself die.

With every hit we took life would disappear around us and to us we were gods,

To them we were THE DARKEST KINGS runners of the pack.

To us no one would talk smack.

But the few who did found a black sack,

A wooden box and a stone.

But when that changed and we met our match and the loss of a brother I found a three-sixty.

And ran for a new home but it took time to get there,

And now that I’m home you can’t make me leave.