I
Wipe a million middle men's slates clean in a puff of smoke
My
Nappy crown emblazoned 'mookie' on my throat
In blazing blue flames licking up my hopes to torch the wick just once and exhale once more to let it go

Let the wind blow
Pink feathers into the heavens
So I can roam with birds who prey on the hearts of men

To cope
I lend my devils an even ledge
With all my triumphs
Adjacent to home, knowingly named after his opus

O push me
Towards the ledge myself and gather scientists to measure my undulating trajectory

Born into a fully bloomed life in the midst of all lifelessness and feared it as foreign weaponry
Purposefully hued a darker undertone to let the colors grow
And show off of their own accord

Watch a cub get grown on the same day he gives up hope
It's like that old story goes

Tore a hole in all he grew to know to face what he thought was a burden meant for him alone and lit the blunt when the siren's songs grow too old to fold to

And now approaching lands unknown begrudgingly forces form to hobble up the shore

Silent silver wings extend from mutants to add chemical x to the solution
If only the barricades around the town would raise their mental gates and posi-posture weighed his heavy heart less heavy in time to level the field

Maybe the victory cake would taste great
It might be worth the wait but you could change the stage and see the beloved decay of the stars on tonight's episode of "What It Takes To Define When You've Actually Made It"