Point the fingers and the crowd comes running.
I see the play but it’s not funny.
The mass creates its own demise.
They create their own dark skies.
People like to see elephants.
The same people don’t act to make a difference.
I’m sick of digging graves to expose your skeletons.
You won’t clean out your closet even though it’s hideous.
People only want drama.
I’m not people. I serve as a comma.
I show what’s next when you’re not listening.
You just don’t like what’s cooking in my kitchen.
I’ve got no expectations and I see through your games.
You like to watch others in pain.
You cover up your ego with silly filters.
I saw your snapchat and how your picture glitters.
You swallow your pride to put on a new pair of skinnies.
You dream of money and not caring about the least of these.
I’m dying to be honest.
I’m dying for you to notice.
You’re the reason I’m an artist.
