I can’t see it coming down my eyes, so I gotta let my soul cry.
Been accused of so many lies, but I refuse to let my soul die.
So I press on. Even when I trip, I don’t stress long.
Hard-headed brotha, head harder than your chest bone.
Refuse to give in, can’t lose; gotta win.
But they tell me that’s a sin.
Forgive me Lord, I’m going in.
I can’t see it coming down my eyes,
so my pen drops tears every time this ink smears
across my note pad, filled up with sad quips.
Made this paper talk to you like it really had lips.
Nobody knows how this pain flows
through my blood stream, give me some damn morphine.
This is what my blood screams.
I couldn’t see it coming down my eyes
so I cried in my sleep as I let my soul weep…
I wait now…
Every day, every evening for your letter.
Your voice, your smile, your hand, your eyes.
Waiting for the officer to say;
“Payne, you have mail to read.”
to ruminate, to laugh, to think…
to contemplate my next reply
but the guard passes my cell.
Now, I’m aching, lonely, waiting, hoping
to hear anything; a joke, a song
an old story about the past.
Then, the guard comes back and says,
“Payne, they have you in the wrong cell.”
your scent, your smell,
your words at last.
I smile, elated; my day has begun…