(Dream, dream, I like to dream)
Both That’s why I keep my nose to the stone, sharp til the hairs split Prose of a lone cub in a bear’s pit And I can barely sit still, You know the deal: wake, work, repeat I’m trying to free up them wings, trying to bare some teeth Insignificance ain’t no signature I’m trying to leave Set a precedent for me, trying to teach it to my seed No predicament too twisted for speech, I’ma just be. (alone)
P.O.S.: Back from seeing papa drink 40 o-u-n-c-e’s just to quench, I’ll rise against all you rinse in me you want your soundscape scraped, that’s my homeboy Cece I’ll be that lung beater here to choke smoke and pent heaters warm the frostbite of the death cheaters and maybe next year the check clears until that time, nickle and dime, no henny and shine, grind them gears me and Cecil been up for years now peeking at how to live how funny so simple can leave you feeling so supple belly full, promise of struggle, never bull stay Doom through til the muscle and I’m been dreaming for a Cecil beat, pasting on the canvas on the easel beat, needle point balance them anxieties and fret with any spool or school of thought that keeps the cloth you stitch indifferent, it’s not the pot you piss in
Both: That’s why I keep my nose to the stone, sharp til the hairs split Prose of a lone cub in a bear’s pit And I can barely sit still, You know the deal: wake, work, repeat I’m trying to free up them wings, trying to bear some teeth And significance ain’t no signature I’m trying to leave Set a precedent for me, trying to teach it to my seed No predicament too twisted for speech, I’ma just be. (alone)
Cecil: So now I stepped into the side saddle, riding all alone My only weapon is my mind, That and knowing that the road wrote a story of its own entitled “I am yours to loan, but I ain’t yours to own, no I ain’t yours,” and only open eyes would know the lines and quotes and no I haven’t always kept my eyes open, so I’m (alone) without a home to call my own, cause dreams are the only roads I roam. And I’m sleeping in a box car dreaming of the lost starts, preaching and car hearts Standing at the edge of this cliff, throwing little things off like rockstars and car parts, These scars that are marking up my face and body, are the songs that I write about you but now I base them off me, I’m breaking laws that we alone don’t show a sign of purpose so I’ll walk these lines and these fences until my time is serviced These giant churches, burning witches, pretty perverts, city workers and snitches that shit’s just drying on the fan, the damned I’ll keep my chin up, sit up,and stand Just combing through the trust, the rust, the dust, the rush and the drunk angst I cash my check at a blood bank, Plus I’ve got some clown make-up and a traveling dunk tank.