Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Count Ossie & Mystic Revelation of Rastafari - Poem

Ever since I was a youth
I've always been searching for the truth
Having been told so many lies
Life like good music never dies

So the question is posed
Only who will ever know
Why is a man respected when he's dead?
Shouldn't that respect be paid to the living instead?

Alive a man is a sufferer of no mean order
But dead he has an estate to the value of a million in gold
I must die one day you all hear people say
Yet praying for salvation in corrupted meditation

Storing up wealth
Ignoring their health
But the tree is known by its fruit
There's no life in lying calling it the truth



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