Final Days

Never gave a f*ck about my living.
Always ways saw me in a casket, or wings clipped in a prison.
In my mind I envisioned,
My existence shortly missing.
A world now spinning
Short of a man with no feelings.
My destiny’s been written.
On a piece of toilet paper.
Pushed by something greater,
I move forward in its favor.
Out run the undertaker,
Stomp my heels in the mud.
I feel the urge to give up
When quick sand got me stuck.
In my mind I seen terrors
In my heart I’m still haunted.
I got to take it, if I want it,
But I’m continuously frontin’.
Constantly blunted.
From trauma by the drama.
I cry out to the holy farther,
With one hand on the revolver.
If I go, I go with honor.
Let the bullet bang, all my life away
Remember me whole in my final days.

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