I’m going through so many changes, I had to change stations
Used up all the quarters and the dimes, and paper with the faces
I’m a teller at this bank. The bank is called life.
Somewhere there is a killer, cuz I keep getting knifed.
So many changes. So many transitions.
So many things to do. 007 on a a thousand missions.
No one to to stop and listen. It really makes me grimace.
Then have the nerve to get offended when I suspend my attention
My education is demanding my time. My bills are tryna snipe me.
My words demand their rhyme. My body needs exercising.
Not to mention my mind, to let it die is quite frightening.
And all this has to happen in the blink of an eye lid.
I’m too old to cry kid. All I can do is sigh kid.
Wish this wasn’t so left I cant right it.
All I’m left to do is write it…
… I can’t even fight it…
Some people call this grown. Adulthood. Blah.
I call it pain. A hell degree spa.
Something totally natural, completely amped up.
The element in life that makes a straight kid wanna cuss.
Fuss. No trust. Grounded. No dust.
No magic, no powers to come and lift away.
No dreams, no force to prevent this decay.
All I can do is say… and say… and say…
I call it change, but perhaps I should call it the same
Been tracking freedom so long, I might die on this train
Played into overtime and beyond, it’s no longer a game
Changed face, and assumed identity, can’t remember my name
What was the point… ah once was so clear!
Why am I doing this… why am I here?
How can these pointless forces wash me of my purpose?
Or perhaps the truth is I’m trapped in a circle never to know who the perp is…