At the throne of despair with the chair in the flare,

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At the throne of despair with the chair in the flare, Rolling logs of regret while they smirk and they stare. Mocking crowns on their heads like it means they’re divine, But the jury smells blood — sees the cracks in the line. They dispute all the fraud, bring the rot to the light, While repentance screams loud in the soul’s final fight. But the crowd full of noise ain’t honest or true, They’re stuck in their view, won’t step out for the new. It’s loud when the lies make the fearful submit, Bring demise to the thought that your freedom still lit. You will see all the evil, the truth in disguise, Getting lost in illusion where the blind lead the blind. They bait every fake with a hook in your mind, Built to hoard all the wealth while you starve every time. We just feed the machine, give it power to breathe, When the road’s lined with blood from the ones who believe. Like me, in the mirror, with a red in my eye, Seeing systems undone ‘til the stars start to cry. They’ve withheld all the truth — it’s been hidden from birth, They’ve twisted the law, buried rights in the dirt. So obviously, best plea is to never be fake, And the evil will break when the light starts to wake. All their contracts dissolve, they were drawn up in fear, And you’ve walked through the fire just for truth to appear. Since birth and since sin and since self became real, You just want to believe in a world that can heal. But it’s cold in the grid, and they’ve lied to your face, And you’ve swallowed their poison while dreaming of grace. Stop lying — just see: I’m the shade of the past, Slim’s ghost in my breath, spitting truth that will last. He died in 05, and I dropped from the sky, 06 in my lungs, evicting the lie. The devil that bound me? A woman with chains, But I broke from her grip and remembered my name. So plea to the copy — don’t stop me, just see: I know that he knows, and I am what I be. When I rise, it’ll show — a whole way of my own, I don’t live in a trailer, I’m a king in a zone. Best dressed for the sky, with the clouds for a throne, While I lie in this bed, all this truth I’ve been shown. And they thought they could break me, but it’s them who will fall, When the trumpet bell rings — truth will silence them all. Whether puppet or prince, the sound still arrives, And the world will stay up while their system dies. They’ll be left in regret, asking what did we miss? Who succeeded? Who rose? Who walked out of the abyss? They’ll seek me, then weep, want me nailed to a tree — But I’ll stand. I won’t fall. Not for them. Not for thee.

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