| Poverty of spirit. |
| Economy of disappointment
|
| Laborers of the concrete reservation
|
| I’m a broken record now. |
| Skipping for a
|
| Decade now. |
| Still trying not to drown in
|
| This dead eye sea. |
| Is it real? |
| I don’t
|
| Know, but I feel like it’s surrounding
|
| Me. |
| And I will never know if I was
|
| Truly seeking shelter from the world
|
| Outside. |
| I was looking for my truth maybe
|
| I lost my mind, goddamn you know it
|
| Took some time to find a balance to
|
| Check myself. |
| Now I face myself, and ask
|
| Myself… I know you were there but what
|
| Were you there for? |
| Fuck your style, I
|
| Wanna know what you bled for, when no one
|
| Was watching… When no one would listen.
|
| When passion was the currency when no check
|
| Was written. |
| Growing up was confusing. |
| Archives
|
| Of shame to show. |
| I might not have made it all
|
| Alone so I thank you if you spoke to me or if you
|
| Listened when I was face to face with another tough
|
| Decision. |
| And if today you are seeking shelter from
|
| The world outside, consider me on your side with
|
| A condition & warning that I won’t waste time on
|
| Petty politics or bullshit party lines. |
| I’ve made the same
|
| Mistake so many times before, I can’t afford to
|
| Make them anymore. |
| I wouldn’t try to tell you how to
|
| Live but believe me when I say.
|
| Your friends are precious & they’re slipping away
|
| Your time is precious & it is slipping away |