I make these songs for the ones who really listen
The children who didn't care if they weren't really Christian
Had faith in themselves
But seen as apparitions
Fall into their own category
Fueled by pure ambition but society as a whole corrupting this mission
Telling us wrong and right possession and corruption a lyrical poltergeist
When you have yourself you don't need a Jesus Christ
The lives of beautiful people the only thing that's been sacrificed
Following these endless steps to paradise
Maybe I'll understand when my hair is white
Picture living in a world with no guns in sight, starving children feeding their appetites
But these dreams are fiction
I guess it's hindsight coming from a kid trying to get his damn mind right
Gripping a mic seeing these visions
But lacking the strength depressions just disposition the heard of a child the brain of a musician loosing the grip the mic is slipping