Topic: number one
here's a little poem i wrote today as i had a lot of time on my hands and a mind numbingly boring job.
I ask not much of this poor life.
See my children grow, a caring, loving wife.
To work each day, bring home the bread.
To know that I am loved for the life I have led.
I will work for the comforts we should all be allowed.
Enjoying the treats from cradle to shroud.
I shall work hard each day as I've done all my life.
Till I get kicked in the trash, till I get dumped in the pile.
The bankers, the auditors, the investors, millionaires.
They play with my life, they really don't care.
For me I'm a number more fodder for the gun.
When they fire at Will, I guess I'm number one.
Phill Williams. 5th November 2010.