Church Stone Poverty...

Old muddy boots,
Faith is my roots,
Church is my castle,
Army was my battle,
I live upon your grave mam,
To reflect how your son stands,
Once a hero, now a zero,
I fought for my queen,
Now, I want to R.I.P,
I know this doesn't sound good,
But I'm sick of sleeping rough,
Anyway mam, I hope you're doing ok,
I hope you're up there, picking dads brain,
I can almost hear him say, "give it a rest!"
While winking at me, whispering "she's the best"
I hope the tide will change, I'm trying to be the best version of me,
While my heart still beats, I will find a better home and live free,
I drag myself out of this homelessness reality,
I'll still visit,
But this grave, won't be my home,
Our family love is too strong, it pulls like gravity,
No more, will my life be in church stone poverty...