(DISCLAIMER: I claim nothing through this)
I came to the city.
It din't welcome me, it's lifeless.
It's the 'zombieland'
It din't welcome me.
I welcomed myself into it.
I travel, I travel long
I see people talking.
Feels a prick somewhere... "I am a loner."
I say aloud "Who cares, I rock!" Then, then
The prick becomes a wound, a bloody wound.
Feels dry, feels thirsty.
I sit and wonder
With my purse in hand,
My 9-year old purse (gift from dad).
Where did the money go?
What will i do? I pray.
God is great, gives me two answers.
2. It's high-time you called home.