In the beginning it was hard, defending my heart,
just pretending not to scar- depending on the art.
Submitting to the sharks swimming toward my star,
everything I'd written, bitten and torn apart.
When the water cleared and my daughter appeared,
I felt stronger, rear views showed monsters and fear.
Writing until sleep, I'm simply fighting to eat,
surviving on dreams, envy and dying to sing.
My lungs are the sword that drums in my war,
love is the award as my blood calms the storm.
Worrying about my family, working's a calamity,
hurting for sympathy, empathy burning and damaging.
Foreclosure around the corner, drowning over and over,
shoulders grounded like boulders, traveling like soldiers and rovers.
I told her daddy was getting older, going forward gets colder,
she said "we are getting closer," showing bolder composure.
I got a gig in Dublin, thirty minutes in front of six hundred,
my stomach strugglin', cemented my love with intense function.
The sound of my heart surrounds the dark,
I'm bound by the stars... I've found my art.
The lights dim as the night spins,
while my mic sits below my eyelids.
My life gives me these divine gifts,
a surprise stemming from deprived rifts.
I sip my whiskey, my lips gripping,
my lyrics whistling, the silence bending.
Spirits whispering through a quiet city,
visions glistening like an iris dripping.
Fingertips strumming the instrument's tummy,
a tenderness humming like a mothership; lovely.
My deliverance is stunning like wilderness honey,
the crowd sings my words- a lyricist's one dream.
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