In a world where later never comes,
Don't close your eyes to the hustle and bustle of the slums,
The systematic hum, the ascetic drums, all culminating into the ecstatic static of the mind.

Impossible.
Don't you know the world walks so slow,
As we all turn every corner and in corner of the cosmic flow.
Don't 'cha know where to go, round these parts we just STOP.

Is this paintin' you a picture,
No ones got your fixer,
This is the time and space of your race, choose your pace, and take it all at face.
Its so small in this world we've come to grow and know.

You choose your reality.
Its your mentality.
Why do you feint your fatality?
Why is poor a commonality?
In this world of these people and these minds,
worried about their behinds,
rewind, rewind to the time of the crime,
when there wasn't a dime.

Because now we're not fine at the table of brotherhood from which we all dine, and there's a man by the window, sipping wine and waitin' to widow, the next pariah that breaks his chair over some other false messiah's head.

But that's the whole point right?

Just biding time to repeat the crime, selfish from the floor to the shelf, where is yourself, where'd you go, down and up from the places above and below, excuse my tone of voice, but you've got a choice, so step up to bat and get ready to act.