Bad Old Men’s Club

Once there was a band of brothers
Public men of honour of the Grey City
Private men of hooligan humour
And so goes their legend as it was

The half man who chaired them was a half witted jerk
Lower fat red lips, Nike customised face
A Lilliputian dwarf with no goal and no vision
He was our Puss in Boots

And there was Barnes, the lady’s bunny
He was such a fan of bums he was always left on the bump
Yet he still remained our finest gentleman

You cannot miss the Don who must not be named
His stupidity knew no order
A fat lipped sport with a kind heart
Such a clever idiot, you could never hate him
He stood for the fools of “common ratio”

There was Letsa who loved to lecture
Why did they call him Juicy, anyway?
He walked like a colonial local tax collector
Like he had some invisible fat on his sides
He had big uncle words for everyone
What a boring sport he was!

Ah, not to forget the King of Pimps
He was such a self-conceited gentleman
A supposedly spiritual man
Tweaaa, we knew him better
He overthrew his boss and stole his senior’s love spot
What a sissy!

Can I forget Wulu, our city wanzam?
He always looked sad
Like the pen that supported his chaotic handwriting
He was the nerdiest of us all
Now look what Obama-town has done to him!

Of course, and there was yours truly
The ugliest of them all
I was their mockery manual for anything primitive
Yet I was hailed the king of literature
And now I get to roast them all.

We were after all naughty young adults
pretending to be irresponsible old men
We made memories that still makes Kuzinik jealous.
And we haven’t changed even a bit!

Love Addict

I drank the river last night and lost my tongue in it
Soaked in hurt, I threw my heart into a pit
There is no such thing as love when you love
There is no such thing as pain when you hurt
If it does not rain the sun will shine above
I cannot hate you or have any regret

How can I unlearn what I know?
How can I know what I unkwowingly know?
I do forget, but I remember
You stay there, the same place you were
You were gone last November
I still think of the smell of your hair

This morning, I burned my finger in the ocean
Nailed on wine, I forgot love’s treason
Vinegar in my mouth, spear in my side
I saw the Messiah walk out on me
How is it that pain rages with such lost tide?
I need love, the kind made for me!