Misunderstood like an opal
I come back to the hood hopeful
Maverick’s too good and boastful,
pushing up this death cloud with my shoulders
wish you could hear how my breath sounds, my soldiers
Crying rain tears, I’m the weatherman or perhaps
the gravity and reality of loss also. Trying to prevail fear for the
Betterment of this perplexed hypocrisy and vanity of course,
Not So?