≡ THE FINGER
Since I was a kid they point me it
In Lady’s eyes I can sense: “angst”
I grew up thinking… I was worse!
I’m a thief by who robbed me first
– The pot calls the kettle “black”.
I got to take it back; or I do that,
Or everything would be in vain;
…what My Ancestors bled then.
Where I come from, “ALMOST
EVERYONE DEPEND ON ME”.
Here, everyone dreads my NO!
And everyone expects my YES!
– From the peak of these hills,
So many… plead for my LIFE.
– From the top of skyscrapers,
Plenty… hope for my demise.
I stand. In the eyes of a Mother,
I can understand… my Brothers.
I promise to solve our problems;
and do it in the most honest way;
And yet they will call me: Thief!