There are things inside me that are alive
With a mind of its own
My hands moved up to choke my throat
Before the woman that’s my crone
I was crowned a king
But I’m living like a peasant
My tears soaked my face when I cried alone
Those explosions aren’t pleasant
I can shed a bit of that head
Hanging upside down in the tree
While I dream of a comforting girl
Echoed from another world
The unfavorable circumstance:
My sister never cared much about me
I feel wasted and degraded
I’ll shrink myself to fit
Before I slide down the Sycamore tree
Railing and trailing in bits
I’ll keep making rhymes throughout this time
One’s a lonely number despite the three
And I’ll never let go
Mark my words on your phone
Of what matters to me