Currency

Poverty of spirit. Economy of disappointment.
Laborers of the concrete reservation.
I'm a broken record now. Skipping for a decade now.
Still trying not to drown in this dead eye sea.
Is it real? I don't know, but I feel like it's surrounding me.
And I will never know if I was truly seeking shelter from the world outside.
I was looking for my truth. Maybe I lost my mind,
goddamn you know it took some time to find a balance to check myself.
Now I face myself, and ask myself...
I know you were there but what were you there for?
Fuck your style, I wanna know what you bled for.
When no one was watching, when no one would listen.
When passion was the currency, when no check was written.
Growing up was confusing. Archives of shame to show.
I might not have made it all alone so I thank you if you spoke to me,
or if you listened when I was face to face with another tough decision.
And if today you are seeking shelter from the world outside,
consider me on your side with a condition and warning,
that I won't waste time on petty politics or bullshit party lines.
I've made the same mistake so many times before,
I can't afford to make them anymore.
I wouldn't try to tell you how to live but believe me when I say..

Your friends are precious and they're slipping away.
Your time is precious and it is slipping away.