Yolanda

Don't ask me what's new, never one to help the poor, always smart on cue, you wouldn’t give ease, no matter who called, any sense of relief, fools are there to queue, waiting by the doors, you’d bust any curfew, bad guys on the street, hardly make you pause, even to hear the screams, no one can break through, hands that hand out chorees, make them sweat anew, you know where you've been, with your filthy mores, will you ever bleed, you’re not my glue, spinning like a sycamore your head full of tunes, someday you're caught.