Feeling fully defeated
by the prevailing spirit
and the weak ass rhymes
that this weak flesh doth inherit
did you hear my little talk
the fine tremor in my voice
that made you miss my slyly slipping in
the abolition of choice
and if it isn’t just a story
what the hell would you call it
and excuse me if I listen
with my hand upon my wallet
The thing about us defeated
we’re not afraid of losing
so it’s some other cup of sorrow
that I’m pointlessly refusing
No comments:
Post a Comment