Dont Trust Anyone (Dta) Poem by Thales French

DTA DTA
Shout That Till My Lungs Bleed
The Rooftops
Watch My City Run Amongst Thieves.

Of Men Of All Ages,
Crooks & Their Countless Faces.
Secret Agendas
Upon Hidden Pages.

Now Alas, I Stay With My Sages.
As We Walk
Through The Land Of The Hatred.
Hopes Of The Wasted.

While The Beggars Beg.
The Dumb Cannot Speak.
The Blind I Now Find,
Are The Ones Blessed By The Sacred.

Rich Man Will Always Make The Poor Man Fold.
For He Himself Is Egyptian.
Who Dares Take His Gold.

For The Tomb Holds Curses
Untold To The Unsolved.
From Laws To Dark Magic,
For Poor Man Its A Tragic.

No Matter He Does,
The Situation Remains Static.
As He Pulls The Mac Eleven,
Send Souls In To Heaven.

The Mind State Of Flesh,
Keeps The Material As Possession.
He Creates His Own Tomb.
For His Blood. & His Unborn Womb.

The Butterfly Swoons On A Full Moon.
Karma Reach The Brim,
His Seed From
An Acorn Fall Soon.

While Your Sins Gathered,
Soon Be Bringing In A Monsoon.
Goons Want A Duel,
Wanting Your Blood at High Noon.

Walk To The Saloon,
Bring The Western You Was Shooting With.
Look Deep For Them Six Shells
& Pray You Never See Hell.

Pound Of Flesh From Your Chest,
Couldn't Weigh Justice On These Scales.