Walking around with my pen,
My enemies want me back,
Its JG maybe with the T whose going to sleep,
Slinging words to the break of dawn to make ends,
Got some dames on my phone major,
Says goodbye as he grabs his pen,
Can’t turn back, want me to change?
Playing for keeps,
Coming off a cliff,
Think I’m getting tested,
Getting restless as I write these verses and poems,
Wonder if the lord heard of me.
Don’t tempt me,
Words as a weapon,
The rebel in the evening,
The book of instruction,
Currency from the art to deadly to teach,
Meet my death touch,
Tendered between these poems,
Guiding the pen to enlightment,
The coldest moon as the winds breeze carrying dead leaves,
Scraping concrete where the end is important,
Sinking in soil a beautiful image,
Trouble of the world knocking me off
Perfecting the art of algorithm,
Out of rhythm,
For the ledger,
Finally making the rebels
Did they change or get caught in the storm?
Caught in the rain,
Does it open like doors?
When it’s me against the rain.