Now that the surface has been scratched
The truth has emerged,
Just because you have the gift of sight
Does not mean you see,
Blinded by the wanting of family and seed,
Couldn't distinguish between the forest and the trees,
The clean from the diseased,
And the fathers from the daddies;
There is only one way to love,
But most don't love the same,
Trying to explain with words that paint pictures in frames of the brain;
Poppa was a rolling stone…
So this is my home,
No seed of my own,
But I protect what's not mine as if it were
Flesh of my flesh
And bone of my bone,
But most folks can't fathom the skin of my zone;
Never expected to grow up so strong,
Mentally contained to remain with an
Assassin's creed,
Bread with the believer of lost dreams;