Long roads, city lights
A heavy heart and empty eyes
trips back home were filled with joy
now, I rehearse verses like drill sergents – step out of line and I’ll tongue slice you.
Hope the people near me don’t take it per-son-al-ly
I have verses I need to sort through, no room to converse
Because trips back home are like facing the front-line, nigger stand your ground and prepare for combat
I’m a hipster. I have no place here, now watch me leave
Leave and never ever come back – the anchor on my heart
Warm muffins and rhajar in the air, honey aromas replaced with bitter emptiness and nameless faces, and gun pointing with words firing And maybe I die this time, as this was my last trip home
The final blood bath.
And the roads shorten as I leave.