On a dark and stormy night, I was born out of a place without any lights A nurse and doctor looked at me less More than they'd expect a child to fix a worldβyet being a mess The clouds were heavy, heaven was empty And I tricked myself that it was because the Lord had sent me An angel was with me, but still with a devil within me Question of sin by a seed, growing like a black willow tree I was born a writer; with no right to be inspiring In spite of things, my desire is to speak all the right things
To say you'd stack your success in columns Sort of feels common; knowledge to mind All your steps, like you have mind powers Less successful in the things I did, all uneventful Quite dreadful, of a sucky life with a hint of menthol These opinions put over my head all affect my mental Deep pressed, feeling the pressures of always being depressed So hard to wear your heart on sleeves, when you wear a vest
With this self opposition, and man's superiority competition Sometimes forgetting you're Christian, and it's composition With all the respect for all our women, their first time christen And with the guidance of someone else's wisdom To avoid all those mistakes, and repetition
Who else do I need to show respect, for respect back For being young comes with baggage your adult self will have to unpack. Getting kicked in your past, For wanting to kickback and relax; As you've never completed a difficult task That an adult never had the time to ask or surpass
That was my childhood, putting me in a foul mood And life's birds of prey looked at me as child food Still growing in a pretty beating moment, and it empowers Because I wouldn't be me without reminiscing on my hearts and flowers.