This one goes out for all the hip-hop heads, men with dreads, the guys on the street pumping lead.
The guys who need rhyme to be fed, or those who just show off their bread.
Those who listen for beats, either instrumental or the echo from ones chest.
For those who listen to fly, get up and lift up their frowns to those who listen just so they will not drown and
those who dance in ballrooms wearing evening gowns.
Those who blare it past 11, or hum it beneath soft breaths, we all have the same heart beating in our chests.
Music does not define you, but it can guide you, keep your mind and heart satisfied too and i am obliged to,
teach you the ways of this Thunder and being for if you can look deep into the core meanings, you can sense true
art in their thesis.
I feel so hollow because I've had so long to wallow
So they say sing for the moment and sing for the years, even though all I'm left with is a bunch of salty tears
That pool on my cheek and seem to grow with each passing week
I'm trying so hard to get out of this hell
it's like falling down some deep ugly well
And it's so hard to stop feeling this way
when every single person I try to talk to about it says
"Well, maybe it will improve the next day."
So maybe I'll just lay down until I have no movement and wait until the day comes that I see some ******* improvement.
They tell me to wipe the dirt off my shoulders,
I put there myself with the shovel in my hands,
Stuck digging a hole, deeper every passing day,
Because I can't get around these boulders.
High school heartbreak,
Won't be nothin' but a dull ache,
Once you find the one that's worth the wait:
Just an outlet? I think not.
More like a window to my soul,
if you would care for a peek.
Stay for awhile, its cold outside
and I could use the company.
Snowflakes dance around,
I open the door and welcome you inside,
"Take your shoes off and make sure you get the snow off, I don't like to track that in here."
Though there are no tracks, no rails or paths.
But please, come inside.
It gets so lonely in the winter.
The windows become cold to the touch
and the hearth's embers flicker.
Throw on another log, and watch the sparks
Just be careful not to scratch the paint.
a broken pen.
I guess I will shread another page,
instead of shedding blood.
Love, a funny thing.
Not so funny when it
is spit back in your face.