We are out of it and there isnt any time to recorrect our paths. Two down and the world to go, head high and we cant take our eyes off of the stars while our government robs us blind. There is more to this bearded hippie than the poison in the food, taxes and dreamless nights, the writer and the street prophet, its more than death and just shy of truly living life, but I havent quit figured it out yet. To stand up and buck the system I know I cant win, or learn how to fly just under the radar and thrive. Small time thinkers are only worried about dollars and police, they say get all you can and keep your head low, pride comes before little check big homie, free your mind and understand we all die. Why? Simple isnt it, learning to smile through the misery, giving up all you are owed for a color and crew, down play the your own value for a white collar job and a symbolic piece of the american dream. Your heart is young despite how my bones feel in the morning, creep and crack, letting out the first breath and then I get right back. Head high, status low, free and carrying value of the King, following the clock right to my funeral, my rest, and still I crave to dream.
Posted on: Sun, 09 Jun 2013 02:41:04 +0000
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