A man of godly nature, a sin of his own,
traveled far from his old Manchester home.
Parents of high royalty,
soul of secret loyalty.
Came to the holy city with bags of money,
hoping that the weather was sunny.

He couldn’t wait to get his hands on the snow,
the white powder that made his veins flow.
He couldn’t bring himself to halt his use,
always coming up with an excuse.
Loving parents always asked why he acted strange,
always begging and pleading for change.

Not many people looked his way,
for he always had something to say.
Snow falls from the clouds in the middle of his face,
many scars from several bottles of mace.
Visited four dealers a day, receiving the finest drugs,
chugging smooth liquid from frosty mugs.

The young man constantly fought for his stash,
injured from a druggie’s slash.
The greed that surrounded him,
the deed that caused his grimm.
It was that, the dastardly bags of snow,
good lord don’t let his parents know.