I held my heart as memories of my past life played in my head
Weeping for lost boy buried in the bed of dead.
Holding on to hope destroyed by the world coldness
Praying to a God whose hand seemed blind to the world’s troubled heart
And wishing upon a falling star for redemption in a world soaked in black art.
A gun in my hand, a bomb on the ground and screams in the air
Revenge fills my chest and hate launches my desire to kill
Im ready to spill blood…
So many innocent slain in a battle for control on this bare land
The ground slowly becoming a wasteland of decaying bodies
Maybe death too would be a sweet gift from this life.
There is no beauty in war and there’s no home in the wild
Running, killing, slowly my the inner child in me dies
Finding solace in rotting bodies of whores and alcohol drenched mugs
Finding meaning in a bullet to the chest, and comfort in drugs
God, strike me dead, mankind’s evil has corrupted my pure spirit.
Maybe in a new era I’ll find home for my misplaced soul
Maybe I’ll be a child again; maybe the future will not have my head hung on the pole
Maybe one day when the sun rolls in I’ll be home again, wrapped in my mother arms
Maybe when I put the gun down, I’ll run free once again
Stars hold me each night for there’s no beauty in war
I’m a child, who has become the after effects of war…
Written by Amogelang Lekwadu.
Photography by Brigid Schutz.