TIMES

 

My times were rough, my stories could make a good laugh

On my very first day, I knew I had to be tough

I was the boy, the society was the garden

And I can testify it was no Eden

'Cause the boy in that den was the garden boy

Like in a forest, I was a ranger

So sad, even to myself I turned a stranger

It’s called instinct, even animals have it

You become animalistic when you’re always sensing danger

What’s innocence if you’re being prey?

It’s not easy to keep, when you’re being hunted

And the society makes you feel haunted

It’s either ghosts of your background

Or wanna-be thugs of the school’s backyard

I mean dropouts, even those who struggle for paychecks,

But still need to put food on the table

Even friends pretend to be stable

But I bet when you get struck, life is a gamble

So sorry, all there is to it, is tough luck

You turn gangster and parents see a rebel

That’s why I say if you know me not

Just stop with the labels

My story continues, it’s still long like a cable