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Verse 1: |
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You never know your shot at fame is over till it passes |
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Till the hourglass is empty and it's backwards |
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And in the vacuum you just wonder how this happened |
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As the artist in you now gets enveloped inside a casket |
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I've put much money and time into this passion |
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Never really thought it would end in quite this fashion |
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But life is what it is and I'll never regret the path |
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I'm just depressed my art never made it to reach the |
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Masses |
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Just average, no better and no preferred |
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I guess I felt I had something worthy to give this |
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World |
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Perhaps it was conceit to have thought I would move the |
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Herd |
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Ego to think I'd lead to new standard with note and |
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Word |
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And foolish to believe a new paradigm would spur |
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But though absurd I won't apologize |
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I won't acknowledge my pursuit was just an empty try |
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So be advised and have the knowledge from this poem |
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Occurred |
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This from the greatest artist in the world you never |
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Heard |
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Well it don't matter I'm sitting inside an empty room |
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Alone with no one present to hear the music boom |
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Like Beethoven or Bach without a chance to bloom |
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Or for Shakespeare's words never to be consumed |
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I just hope that one day my work will be exhumed |
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To infuse with higher levels now un-pursued |
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And that maybe the spirit in this will surge |
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And turn the world into something in which I'm heard |
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Verse 2: |
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I'm inside these four walls |
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I feel confined by four walls |
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Yes, my mind is four walls |
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Where thoughts come forth and design rhymes for y'all |
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Just my flow, the audio and my pen |
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Well, written it's a 10 |
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But no audience attends |
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Still I can't give in |
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The feeling won't descend |
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I don't do this just because, there's a cause I defend |
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So the music never ends |
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I'm not the caged bird that never sings |
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I'm the bird in the cage that breaks his wings |
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Trying to escape from where I feel trapped |
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So I keep shouting my raps |
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The sound waves bouncing back |
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It hits my frame, recharges my spirit |
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Then clicks my brain, responds with lyrics much |
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Stronger than the last |
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Some day this sonic blast |
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Will cause these walls to crash |
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And the mass can be exposed |
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To the greatest never known |
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Grown by the desire and the fire that inspires real |
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Writers |
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And to all of them I've shown |
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That when I arrive they will cheer |
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But all the while I've been here |
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All the while in this square |
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Waiting for someone to hear |
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Or them just to lend an ear |
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Well it don't matter I'm sitting inside an empty room |
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Alone with no one present to hear the music boom |
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Like Beethoven or Bach without a chance to bloom |
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Or for Shakespeare's words to never be consumed |
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I just hope that one day my work will be exhumed |
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To infuse with higher levels now un-pursued |
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And that maybe the spirit in this will surge |
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And turn the world into something in which I'm heard |
