Add me to the list of show horses who've kissed a gun
I'm tired of beeing the beaten one.
No fun.
Sick of beeing the last man to run
I feel like eventually I'll amount to someone
But till that day I'm just a body.
My sports have become hobies
Sleeping in hotel lobies.
Giving gobbies for coins
There is no fruit in my loins
Just an ache that lies in the wake of my discrimination.
Acting alongside my procrastination
No longer will my forehead bead with
Precipitation
I have become a man that could disappoint a nation