The beat has dropped.
It's time to rhyme.
But the lyrics are gone.
He's out of time.
Nothing on his mind.
Words left his head.
Out the window,
and now they're dead.
His words he brought you,
creating awe and wonder.
Now all you want to do,
is tear him asunder.
His lack of rhymes,
so you jeer and boo.
When give him a break,
is what you should do.
He's give you his all,
but you only abuse.
He gives his all,
but he's lost his muse.
All the pain,
you'd think his inspiration lost.
Yet he continues to write,
no matter the cost.
Wanting to be accepted.
Wanting respect.
Tired of the anger,
and all the neglect.
Trying to fit in,
but there is no chance.
Yet set it on it,
like stuck in a trance.
Feeling alone,
so trying to make friends.
Only Hell has followed,
The good will come when?
Why do we outcast,
and leave people alone?
Why do we point out flaws,
when we have our own?
Thrust our problems as excuses,
and reasons for action?
Doesn't please anyone,
only self satisfaction.
Why do we friend people,
but fake like we don't?
Should it matter if our friends,
will accept them or won't?