Antisocial Humanitarian

I only worship at my own altar I do not even go to nightclubs I do not even know the Kaaba Or kneel for a word of prayer Not even a chant in the stadium I do not even like talking to others When I do It always comes back to me, Karma I feel stressed to see a banker Its even worse with doctors Unless I am dying, Nirvana and my lips are all chapped That's when I call for mother To heal me rebirth me Madonna, Miracle worker What kind of man? I wonder But my poems are a way to reach ya Hold your hand, touch ya Share myself, appreciate ya Show my dirt, entertain ya Heal your heart, medicate ya Share my thoughts, Liberate ya Make you like me, Imitate ya It is always with love, I seduce ya And when your are lost, Calibrate ya So without going Further I do this for you with care If you find it in you return a favour For an Antisocial Humanitarian