My hands are...

always cold*

had to let you know...it's quite upsetting, it is me.
I put on some gloves,
as I type...I think-
of those who live in other homes,
without heat...food or lovely things for them from the get-go,
and I'm sick of the complaining self from two seconds ago

My sound track says,
"Justice is something so fresh and wonderful,"
and I think...Lupe you sing that shit,
but what have you and I done?

It's almost too much to let my mind take that turn.
There's just too much, and this brain, too weak.
to have a handle on all of this and that,
It does go on and on in the shitty world we beat in.

So the heart it screams, be gentle,
and yet I hit replay, and you begin once again,
"I don't need no one's permisson,
My life's in hi-definition."
You made it out alive, you proudly exclaim...
so you go'head and sing it for all the world to know.

But "the hero and the side kick?"
get your head out the skies boy,
and sing for the fallen soldiers,
the babies, in their mothers' arms they've died.

Sing for those that do not know how to look into the eyes,
preach to them because trembling with fear they live.
In wrecked homes the same hearts beat, amidst burned cars they breathe;
And destruction, no doubt, is their soundtrack,
Smoke their heavenly scent.

But who am I to say?
I love your words, sometimes you rap timeless rhymes.

Africa you mentioned,
the virus- it has spread
and those loved ones that yearn to live, alas,
at least, a shout out,
through your words they have.