Money for the poor
To the corners of the earth
that sum reserve to call hell
life isn't lived like anything you know
it's apart of a style traped in time
life of the eger but only to die
here there is no money
were the poppy seeds blow
here there is no money
were hashish is smoked
here there is only money
were the bullets go
poem by Terry halvorson
Added by Poetry Lover
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