Traveling Dunk Tank

That's why I keep my nose to the stone, sharp 'till the hairs split
Prose of a lone cub in a bear pit
And I can barely sit
Still, you know the deal: Wake, work, repeat
I'm trying to eat
I'm trying to free up them wings, trying to bear some teeth
Insignificance ain't no signature I'm trying to leave
Set a precedent for me, trying to teach it to my seed
No predicament too twisted for speech, I'mma just be
(Alone)

Back from seeing papa drink 40 o-u-n-c-e's just to quench
I'll rise against all you rinse in me
You want your soundscape scraped, that's my homeboy cece
I'll be that lung beater here to choke smoke and pent heaters
Warm the frostbite of the death cheaters
And maybe next year the check clears
Until that time, (nickel and dime)
No henny and shine, grind them gears
Me and cece been up for years
Now peeking at how to live
How funny something so simple can leave you feeling so supple
Belly full, promise of struggle, never bull
Stay doom through 'till the muscle
And I've been dreaming for a cecil beat
Pasting on the canvas on the easel beat, needle point
Balance them anxieties
And fret with any spool or school of thought that keeps the cloth you stitch indifferent
It's not the pot you piss in

So now I stepped into the side saddle, riding all alone
My only weapon is my mind
That and knowing that the road wrote a story of its own entitled
"I am yours to loan, but I ain't yours to own, no I ain't yours"
And only open eyes would know the lines and quotes
And no I haven't always kept my eyes open
So I'm (alone)
Without a home to call my own
Cause dreams are the only roads I roam
And I'm sleeping in a box car dreaming of the lost starts, preaching in carhartt
Standing at the edge of this cliff, throwing little things off like rockstars and car parts
These scars that are marking up my face and body
Are the songs that I write about you, but now I base them off me
I'm breaking laws that we alone don't show a sign of purpose
So I'll walk these lines and these fences until my time is serviced
These giant churches, burning witches, pretty perverts, city workers and snitches
That shit's just drying on the fan, the damned
I'll keep my chin up, sit up, and stand (alone)
Just combing through the trust, the rust, the dust, the rush and the drunk angst
I cash my check at a blood bank
Plus I've got some clown make-up and a traveling dunk tank