Life seems darker as of late,
Is it the change of seasons,
Or have the rose-colored glasses fallen off my face?
I’m still not sure how many days I have left;
I’ve wanted to unhinge my jaw with a revolver for the past week and a half.
I ain’t no ghetto’s son,
I am a privileged white male,
Out the ***.
It’s ******, but it’s true.
I mean, sure, I grew up on a street with no lights on outside,
And I got a knife pulled on me in front of my house, but what’s that say about me or you?
I am a counter-cultural mess and a half.
That’s what it seems like, from my end of the teeter-totter.
I thought I was my father last night, but that bullet’s dodged… I ain’t have no daughters.
I feel like my prescriptions read “desperation”, and the puffs that I blow read “sloth”.
But I’m just doing what I can, being cut from the same cloth.