feel like a sherpper, hill after hill, rolling the dice on the table snake eyes, see your soul through the eyes and the glint that you hide but that occasionally is released, cease and desist with the bullshit in this world, like a turtle on its back trying to flip back, walk the streets, scared barely prepared, but that's it fuck being a recluse, agoraphobia, spit the type of rhymes I live no made up or fabricated shhit, fakes and biters throw another up until, developing their own style, everyone starts. the race at the same start point but I've been unning so long my skin on the feet I tread is bare, keep going remain mentally resilience, lap after lap, but the finish never in sight so far from the line, you're looking at just a dot