Life is about going to the finishing line
When we are there, our soul is broken
We then hear voices as sour as lime
We no longer give people token
THE PROTEST
Never shout at me, make me bright
What’s point; I heard you are booked
This is the last time and moment
You will hurt me because of where I stood
Am dying slowly, my skin is turning into tint
You and I will one day die and never be evoked
Not yet at the finishing lane, waiting for the day
Come and walk with me because I had a fall
THE END
This is the last time I will be vainly happy
When luck isn’t enough; am living to die for gaol
Written by Joseph Yaw Frimpong
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