[Verse]

I should have more substance

They need to scream let's adjust it

Pitch it up and maybe you'll get more hits

Tearin' at another page of all this rough shit drafts

Just spent another minute back in the lab

Niggas Pan's Labyrinth

Looking like a stag in the headlights

My computer screen hoping that I die before this hits streaming

Edits on edits

I wish that I had several blessings

But it just leave me on go with depression

Settings on settings on settings

Edits on edits on edits see

All these presets in my bedroom see

Wanna torch everything that I've said

It's all you inside, brains and heads

Just read my mind on shuffle through

Until I'm fucking dead

Maybe you'll find some pieces

Worth your fucking dough instead

I can hear you talking, no you're mocking

You're just too fucking perfect

Make me wanna fucking vomit

Know I got some trauma lurking

I hope that you can look beyond it

I'll take these pros and cons into something that's concrete

Hoping this exhumes

Hoping that I blew this

Hoping that you see in the face of a new bitch

Hoping that I'm placed in a blueprint

Hoping that my hole can in place with the truth, and

I've just been crying for too long

I don't know how I can cope

I wanted people to listen to me

But now I don't know if my voice is right

Will it last through time?

Or will I be another flash in the pan one night?

Will it fall down if I expose some light?

But my heart's beating and I hope these signs aren't noticed by someone who can know these signs

And I'm hoping I'm not just a tribute

I don't have a gift, that was given too much

I don't have charisma, I've never known love

Don't want a bitch either, but that is fact

Fucked up that and I considered to rap

I still gotta stammer these period silence

I've still injured everything trauma and violence

I still don't know everything that I've been hiding

I still don't know everything that I've been hiding

I'm opening my mind to talk to my father

My chords are not working, my dreams have been slaughtered

That was around eleven years before the jail I didn't speak a year

I knew I would fail

One day it worked out

And I don't really know how

I don't really know how still

I don't really know how

[Spoken Word Outro]

Sometimes it feels like there's people who don't fit into the status quo. We kind of box ourselves in to this need for art to be about suffering. That the dominant society needs to be able to understand our pain and maybe one day if we show them enough of our wounds that they may take pity on us and treat us with some respect and sympathy. Good art is not synonymous with pain. Good art is whatever fulfills this creative purpose, whether it's just to have fun or vent, anything can be beautiful. So I refuse to allow myself or my friends to be stuck in this theater box of torment for the upper class. There's always a door out, there's always just saying that you're worth more. There's always an escape if you're willing to look for the door