Street lights, the splendor of life
By the corner my drug peddlers
Make an “honest” living with the law
And the drunks linger like a fog
On the cold city streets of Harare
Make a buck, cliché for the poor
The scent is no longer the same
Pain, sorrow and hopelessness hang
In a shadowy mist above the corner store
Infecting as it lurks for its prey
Oh Don died last week, did you hear?
Now a statistic for the forgotten souls
There are no halls of memories
For those who remain infected
Death knows no relent, and that’s for sure
Now in the silence of the dawn
A miracle everyday, hope is born
Then maybe one day when the sun sets
The night will offer slightly more
Than to mask that mist of pain and suffering.
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