| You gave me language as a gift, I turned it against you
|
| I was stupid, I was young, I was hanged by my Judas tongue
|
| You shouldn’t give weapons to kids that don’t know better
|
| They can’t possibly understand that there’s no such thing as forever
|
| For every letter in the alphabet
|
| You said connect ‘em to a happy word, no matter how bad things get
|
| I did my best, but the pickings got slim
|
| Once I arrived at «X» and I had to think of synonyms
|
| Weighed ‘em against the antonyms, I was hanging with all the mannequins
|
| Who are on a constant search for a person’s amputated limbs
|
| Almost offered up my own, trading in my arms and legs
|
| You said, «Learn to express yourself if you’re gonna stand for things.»
|
| I stood up without expression, stood up against everything including you
|
| I was stupid, I was adolescent, but I had your lessons to cling on to
|
| And I want you to know how much it helped
|
| Considering everything that I’d gone through
|
| There was a period without periods, run on sentences were like binges
|
| I was a comma with no pause, a rebel with no clause
|
| Anxiety is no excuse once there’s nothing left to separate
|
| We could have connected, but didn’t
|
| I was ignorant, passed out on the spacebar
|
| The further we drifted apart the closer
|
| I came to realizing just how amazing you are
|
| Now that you’re gone I’mma say it to the stars
|
| ‘Til my words knock worlds off their axis and the universe collapses
|
| Thank you for the matches, for the gift of fire
|
| For the wood and the axe, for whooping my ass
|
| For the wheel even if you didn’t invent it
|
| For the impact that you had on me, it’s epic, thank you for the effort
|
| For teaching me the ABC’s even if I never make my way to «Z»
|
| Even if I never do for someone else exactly what you did for me
|
| Thank you
|
| I was a stupid son of a gun with initials carved into me
|
| I was a stray, a runaway, afraid someday you’d shoot me
|
| So I scratched off the letters with a pocket knife
|
| That’s how I loss my way when I was tossed into the fray
|
| This is not my life, who am I kidding, this is a thank you note
|
| Disguised as a written apology for everything you taught to me
|
| So awkwardly I approach the open microphone with everything that I wrote
|
| Clear my throat, adjust the collar on my coat
|
| As I rock crowds, microphones and boats and then I stroke
|
| Whatever little ego I have left, I should have left it at the alter
|
| But I didn’t cause I’m an idiot, self-deprecating author
|
| With a paperback edition that isn’t worth a flip through
|
| If I don’t give you the credit that you deserve
|
| You edited the words from the grave and beyond
|
| From the first sign of sun rays at dawn
|
| 'Til the moonbeams set blaze to my lawn
|
| The universe collapses on my front steps
|
| So we get to share in that moment, for just one moment
|
| And nobody’s upset, there’s no more anger, there’s no more sunsets
|
| So I crawl back in the chamber, you can shoot me up
|
| You might as well, we had great communication before the tower fell
|
| I’mma do my best, while you rest in peace |