Did you know you are the trumpet
Did you know you are the drums
We wait for you to thump it
As you grasp your weary guns
Did you know you are the bass
Did you know you are the singer
We wait for you to fill the glass
As you let your hatred linger
You are the conductor and the band
Drunkenly pouting across the land
We will be patient and kind
While you see a solid line
Afraid to step across
So you don’t get lost
Winners can’t be made
Losers don’t get paid
When will you be found
To give Her sweeter sounds
Our Mother feels your dread and rage
Stomping inside your self-made cage
But did you know its bars aren’t real
Your heart can be still
If you see you are the show
That dissolves your low
Clay The Scribe 