Oh this poet knows that he's nice with the words.
Maybe it'd be nice if our minds could merge.
My Fatima waiting on her knight in shining
But she doesn't need him because her nights are shining
Her roots are strong but she cut the locks now her roots are gone
An African queen that I want to rest upon
But we don't get none, cause she just gets done
“I'm done, it's done, we're done.”
I ain't a sprinter, I don't know how to run
You are my sun
You are the one
It's always something
That stems from nothing
Hate was my vice, attention was your problem
You were gonna help me through mine
I was gonna help you through yours
But I guess I'm not yours