Word as it is Today

Since when did he ever worry about his father’s permission
He always did what he wanted to do regardless
Fort Street left him wandering a path with no way home
When he came looking for her
It was too late
He knew now
when she tried to tell him
She had run into the arms of another
His world crumbled at the fact of the matter
She was always in the arms of another
The drugs and incarcerations would have made her run he knew
Along with the clatter of empty bottles of medication and white rum
He doesn’t blame her
Everything changed after Upper Queen Street
Shrugged off on the day of his first conviction
Sentenced in absentia
Pity for no other fool
His vocal cords took weeks to recover
from that day he screamed for death
until he was dragged away by the constabulary
After Fort Street she like the others turned her back
while he suffered a doctrine of military mantra
Life over death mattered
Still does
He would assassinate at her command
Everyone shunned him back then
Gave him not an ounce of credit for what he did
The pressure from upper command would pop rivets
Groomed to the illicit business he was drowning in
Labratory to distribution professionally executed networks
Carrying tools of the trade
Weights and tariff to keep it honest
It was all about protecting the filthy flow of money
A never-ending river to protect for his handlers
Arms hookers and drugs became his life
Prozac was the name of his first gun
Irish ancestry became once again through
His mother the family connection to mother Ireland
Cell technology
Independence silently acclaimed
Unlike her
No one else to blame.

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