All lined up for pedicure, this pedestal lifts and makes me pure just as good as your amateur mind that went mature, still don't know for sure- if I am safe, blurry trials and tribulations, facing nothing but these questions masks my concentration, waiting for my own fate to shape and tape my contemplations, faking is my mind going, flowing through these vacant stations, making all these thoughts, I'm pacing, waking in your conversations, taking nothing all in but all sin, roasting, baking, soon forsaken, am I just a loner prone to blazing, wasting righteous sayings, causing slayings, racing to the confrontations?!