If you ever think of pulling out of the match,
Don't tell the coach,
Don't throw away your suits,
Carry your body out,
And don't wave at your messmates,
Go to your house,
In the dark of your room,
Soak your muckender,
Pull up your sleeves,
And sop up to the field.

To the musicians on stage,
I have your voices in my room,
It's my rhythm in the pain,
And I wonder why you tell my story,
I cry in your beats,
And laugh in your notes,
Funny, how you record,
For your next hymn.

To the musicians on stage,
Never mind who listens,
And how it tastes,coz;
Everyone has their taste,
Don't bother the spotlight,
You make our hearts light,
We didn't tell you we care,
But, we built you a palace in our minds,
And we solo your words in the dark.

I am writing this,
To that one kid,
Who sits behind the class,
Tears the pages of his books,
And begins to make patterns,
He himself cannot comprehend,
I was told of the number of times,
You cried yourself to sleep,
I know what you crave for,
But I dreamt,
You should wake up,Build up
And get out of your head,
That is not your place,
I wonder for how long,
You will soak in your pages,
How many poems will you have to write?
How many notes will you have to write and tear?
How many arts will you have to draw?
I thought,
Perhaps, you could breath and write on my palm,
Let me be your book, to vent your anger on,
I've had my heart killed, and I know how it feels,
I can't count the therapies, I had to undergo,
And I remember, they thought I was a ******,
I kept questing my sanity,
But I was sure I was OK,
And so when you click OK to my page,
I promise, it's OK not to be OK.

Valley, if it was a valley,
Then she must have lost herself in there,
But didn't y'all ask her to hang on a little?
Yet you didn't send a dove to check,
Or maybe Noah's vulture,
I checked and I'm sorry it was a deep sea,
I'm sure the tears conspired against her,
They gathered and swept her down deep,
But don't dead bodies float?
Might be she still breathes beneath,
But still,
Y'all won't save her?

Sophisticated look,
Hand once made of a gold watch,
Quirky smirk,
Ego that knew master hood,
Soft palms,
Knew just a touch of a cigar,
And a warm body, that;
****** the death of a lifeless man,
A man's lap is the dungeon where angels are held. That man.