When I get handed the mic, I'm quick and fierce.
They don't make any armor that my words can't pierce.
I'm just sitting here, thinking and drinking my thoughts away. Trying to figure out what to do.
But all that comes to mind is the thought of you...
At the end of the day, I don't know who I'm trying to be.
I'm not even sure if that same person is who I want the world to see.
I've got all these things running through my frontal cortex.
Trying to gather my thoughts is like trying to run through a frontal vortex.
I'm waiting to find my place
I'm like an astronaut lost in space.
And when my verses finally come to a close,
I'll have the difficult task of separating my friends from my foes.