I don't really walk anymore.
Not anymore I don't anyway.
I don't run or jump or play.
I guess you could say I drag my feet,
but they never really touch the ground,
so that's not true either.

I float, you know?
I kinda hover around
just trying to stay above it all...
just trying to rise above all the lies
just nodding my head here,
and shaking a hand there....
I hear, but I don't listen.
It's not that I don't want to,
it's just that I don't believe most of the words
that escape lying, filthy mouths.
You see, I've been down this road before.
See those boot prints right there?
Yeah, those!  They're mine man.
Yeah that's right.  
You're walking down a dirt road
that I cleared out a long time ago.
Matter of fact, I can still smell the smoke
they tried to blow up my *** long ago
like it was just yesterday man.
Oh.  Nah, man!  Don't clam up on me now!
****'s just getting interesting!
It's much more than a little entertaining
watching you squirm as you tell your silly story.

But don't worry, partner.
I ain't even mad, werd?
You must understand that I was
born for this **** right here.
No, man!
Not this job.
Not this skill set.
Not this family or city.
No, none of that, my friend.
No sir, I was born for *******.
To sift through ******* to be precise.
It doesn't really matter what you,
or he,
or she,
or anybody
throws at me.
I'm gonna take it,
break it,
shake it down,
and turn that **** into gold, man.

I promise you one thing though.
I won't share it.
I'll just keep on walking by with mine.
Dig?
True Story!
Ha!  But yeah.  Good luck with whatever it is that you're doing.
Hope it works out.
It won't, but I hope it does anyway.
Smoke-stained face from when it all blew up.
I'll just keep floating...just keep hovering right here...
untouched and alive....