Damn these bags laying under hollow eyes

Exhaustion running from falling skies

Tarnished stained and punished

And life refused to be finished

I dreamed of a tax return showing six figures 

Made Behind a path of pulling triggers

And imma make that this year

But that hasn’t made life clear

Like a surgeon that cannot make the decisions

Of where to make the incisions 

And fuck I just want this done

I just want my son

I can’t change the worlds stone heart

But hey here’s a start

And you can keep that real fake shit

I’m done with that foolish  bit