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This policy was last modified on 12 April, 2017.

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Music Album: Frankincense by Frank Edwards

Frank Edward's Biography:

Within the last of the tomb

Within the last of the tomb Are fresh and quick sand The hairs rough and needed comb Whom the owners sought for a land When bitterness taste like it is from honeycomb Men stood and roll their last band Not of victory but cry of a lost womb Of a child who was at hand Those left behind blasted by a bomb Their remains soon would turn manure sold for few rand Within the last of the tomb Are bodies which testify failure of a magic wand. By J_amaze.

The Big City

I stood on the bridge And beheld the great city The weather so cold like in a fridge Everyman on his duty Some houses in a ridge I sighed and said what a pity! The land of slavery Held men hostage for years Story was told of his bravery He stood and everything he dares But he was caught up in great injury  By those who burden he bares The great city of vain Where all at last becomes vanity Where men for joy get pain Hands washed in blood in sanity All they seek is their gain To acquire riches and vitality Yet our sight is blinded Our strength weakened In wisdom we are fooled In our kingdom we are doomed We still perceive all is well Until we receive our wage and fell By J_amaze