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We start this battle with a rhythmic dissing, a fierce competition where an extensive vocabulary is your only ammunition. Like Rufio and Peter Pan, you know you've had a good punch line when the Lost Boys yell out, "bangarang!"
We're putting the "dang" in dangerous and paying no mind when they're wasting their time to try changing us.
We've all got something to say and our insecurities try to get in the way, meant to keep us afraid of opening wide our mouths and letting these songs out. Oh, what a joy it is to defy these infuriating voices. We've all got choices and I pray you choose to speak...
As for me, I personify the pain and give it a name. Then, like Eric Church, I murder a word in black ink spilt on the pages that become their graves and "The Raven" by Edgar Allen Poe never really meant much to me, but Adam Duritz gets me every time I listen to Counting Crows.
Who would've known that I'd be an earthquake driver, trailblazing and creating a path by way of spit fire. This has always been my way of coping, my way of knowing that I have something to offer. Though, I don't mean to circle the drain but my cracks are showing to prove that we are all broken.
A spectacle to be noticed, the elephant in a room of cold shouldered individuals who are content with being miserable. To the beat of a different drum, we dance to this manic noise. Bringing the ruckus like we did when we were only known as hobbledehoy's.
They say we may have grown up too quick, got a reputation for being misfits and we are anything but alone. Sure, we're out of the norm so we fit in like words that rhyme with orange. These slurs emerged from dirt after a brainstorm. We are standing strong.
If this is Never Land, I don't ever want to land from the cloud I'm on, I think I'll just call it home from now on.