i had a poem to write, i would not,
if i were to be dragged down and lynched,
let me go gladly, i will surely grow again
in some unknown field, what is life
where this flesh will be eaten away
where this light will devour these tendons
i were a racist, i'd be a great one,
it can be claimed in the box, with an agent,
who takes the bet, 500 'Across the Board'
on the FENOMENAL RACISTA SUREÃ‘O
and ends the transaction with a 'Buena Suerte'.
i'd take at that fast track and grab the bullet
as all work is inevitable once the bell sounds