Текст песни
Sound of a pen scratching on paper, a deep sigh
Yeah...
This the part they never see.
The cost of the vision.
Late night thoughts in a broken room,
Dreams of peace, but the world's a tomb.
They judge the scars but not the war,
They love your art but not the core.
They want the rage, the passion, the fire in the beat,
But not the lonely nights that made the rhythm complete.
They don't wanna know 'bout the man who can't sleep,
Who sifts through the trauma that his verses all keep.
Every headline's a hook, every funeral's a verse,
It's a blessing and a curse, it just makes the pain worse.
This "broken room" is my mind, and the windows are cracked,
Letting in all the world's sorrow, and nothing gives back.
Nothin' gives back... but I still give.
Poetry in the shadows, I bleed in lines,
Tryna heal the world with a piece of my mind.
Don't need no crown, I'm already divine,
Poetry in the shadows, my soul designed.
Poetry in the shadows, I bleed in lines,
Tryna heal the world with a piece of my mind.
Don't need no crown, I'm already divine,
Poetry in the shadows, my soul designed.
I ain't famous, I'm a mirror for pain,
A voice for the voiceless stuck in the rain.
Each verse a prayer, each hook a tear,
Still whisperin' truth even if they don't hear.
I reflect their own struggles right back in their face,
And they get angry at me for holdin' up the place.
It's easier to shoot the messenger than to read the message,
To dismiss the prophet than to confront the presage.
So I walk through the crowd, completely alone,
A garden of ideas in a world that's made of stone.
They hear the music, but they miss the silent cry,
The man behind the metaphor, who's not afraid to die,
but terrified of never being truly seen before he does.
Poetry in the shadows, I bleed in lines,
Tryna heal the world with a piece of my mind.
Don't need no crown, I'm already divine,