Paul Wall

I won't get the bagpipes

I won't get the guns

I won't get Father White

or Sister Anne as nuns

not to touch the earth

not to see the sun

everything on this course let it of me out run

to be done

to be done

You will get my silver straps

you will get my ribbons red

you will find the guilty things

I have hidden in my head

no more stalemated attritions

no more tardy ambitions

everyone knows it now, nothing left unsaid

I will be discovered

I will be found out

I will do the somethings

You would only dream about

no more languished solitude

no more awkward turtle

no more walls in my way

that i forget to hurdle

I am not paul the wall

so much as you so say

I have never in my life been boring,

except that is, today.

I am not paul the wall

one made out of bricks

I am made of finer things

yet i feel stones and sticks

I am not paul the wall

I am made of sand

And in that moment I'll have known it

this should not be in my hand

I am paul of dust

and dust I will return

and of trust I wished I must

have to be alone and earn

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Jessie Specht's picture

Simply magnifico, Paolo!