Sometimes I stare at the inevitability of life
As if it were a seed in my hand

I know that I’m not quite what you desired
I’m here, and I’m tired

A seed in your hand
Inevitably

I could write you a world
A world that we’d never leave
But a jailer, I’d be
Keeping you in words and not allowing you life
I know, to an extent, what you say
Is not what you mean

I saved myself
Took the blame for the entirety
Curb-stomped remedies by witchdoctors
Satanic dealings in secret
Satan steals away in darkness

This wasn’t to scare you
I want to remind you
As we sit on the curbside
A seed in the hand
Of a King
What we have the ability to create
Is beyond the imaginings I could write
Beyond the world I could bring about

We are not as lost as we think
Collective thoughts scream otherwise
As cars still fail to touch the skies
We are not as lost as we think
We are not as lost as we think