you see; this world is not a playground, and english is not my first language, but i will try my best to drive my point across and i hope you can forgive all my sloppy talk. but let’s just chat a little bit about this deep struggle we all go through. oh, you’re saying you’re fine? that you’re right in the mind? there has never been a single thought of suicide crossing your mind? nah, i think that you’re lying, and only to yourself. ’cause anyone that is alive has been through their personal circle of hell. maybe two or even more. this life is a bore. so i write to communicate peace of mind, in case you forgot. some say i am not a rapper, and i have to agree. some say i’m not a writer and oh my god have you looked at me? look deep inside my eyes, i know it’s hard, schedule’s tight, but when you get an opportunity please, come inside. i will welcome you, with coffee and biscuits. and then we can have a talk about how this world is vicious and will take you by the throat, throw on a wall, punch you in the guts and say “let’s go to the mall! i’ll buy you some ice cream. maybe kill all your dreams. maybe show you a song that will you bring you down to your knees.”
ok, calm down. take a seat. tell me all your problems, i won’t speak a word until you ask me to. unless you’re still trying to convince me of that bullshit that your life is so perfect that not even a single time cutting your skin has crossed your mind and that’s a lie. what now, you’ll say you’ve never cried? you’ll say that a motherfucker like me has never been able to finish a rhyme? i know my writing is bad, i bet that your’s is too. at least i try to mend this world, using my words as glue.
so i will keep writing and rhyming and singing and crying and sleeping and eating and screaming and flying… at least in my dreams. but who can say that this is all real? can you give me some proof? or should i just call solipsism truth?
oh, look. that’s all the time we have today. but come back next time with a little more honesty inside your heart.