Damn

and I'm the fool.

Waiting for a

sure to come.

Everything coming to me

has been like

That chick Precious ain't got nothing on me.

I'm waiting for

the ball to drop

the memory to fade.

the crown to crumble.

I'm waiting for

the streets to open up and swallow me.

Strength of spirit

and

artistic heart

has nothing on fate.

So,

tell me about hope.

I'll whisper about survival.

sell me on gratitude,

I'll sing about solitude.

Preach about blood

I'll scream about the suffering.

tell me the stories

and

I'll tell you

I don't believe

in

good

things

for me.

I got blues in my skin.

It ain't from privilege.

I earned my right to sing the blues.

Wish you were smart enough to tell me

when I could go back

to not believing

in good things again.