Charisma don't matter It don't matter a damn Whilst my blood Pour through your hands You gonna tell me I'm ugly Or, you gonna tell me I'm pretty When I'm a-holding your heart In the palm of my hand Yeah, that 's what I thought You're soft, You might be a poet But you ain't no preacher And you got no charisma Pick up your arms Step in line Shoulder up Get some blood on your hands We got a world to build
A Collection of Poetry