My words are on fire
And your eyes are cold as ice
My hands have grown numb
And you no longer want to listen to the beat of my drum
Is this not all comprise?
My strides are aggressive
And your thoughts are protected
I share my emotions
But you don't like that commotion
How is this all so hectic?
My lungs need air
And you're slowly pulling our your hair
I really hope that you meant it
Or was it the passion in your belly ?
Or was it the satisfaction of taming a lion?
Perhaps it is the only honest thought in your *** of black gold.