Thanks Hollywood for riding out from the west, with your slogan six-shooter that’s guilty for the hole in my chest, for making my decision of what's the best bet. You shot art through the heart because it made men outta mice. But my vision kept left, so far it was in the opposite lane when you came round enforcing your reign. It has dodged Dodges, Fords, and all your other brands too, just to weave words from within this wicked n' wild whirl wind where we watch wrecks while fat cats sit back n' get paycheques. So lemme ask, what's next? They'll keep us typing on computers, pressing buttons for nothing. Hunting for faith in a sea full of snakes, and if you ever find some I'll be amazed because I get lost for days in this ****** maze. That's not to say that I stop my pace. Still moving so fast I feel wind on my face, but the breeze is about all I feel nowadays. Cause they shot art through the heart, it was making men outta mice, and what they gave us in trade still filled me with a fiery rage, but those too close got burnt so I learnt to keep it all locked in a cage and if it werent for this ink and this page, then maybe I'd have enough passion to make something change. But they shot art through the heart for making men outta mice, and when they did that they gave everything a price. The only thing left now not slapped with a label is all these free words and what you are able to put together as pieces of poetry, so if Im just one small rock in a world of change, then I must be part of a whole mountain range.