 I never come out from. Cause every day a drought can a shadow a doubt from. I'm down to do whatever if it betters my outcome. The city's like the Autobahn bar room waiting on Malcolm. Cause people want to see my blood flow like fountains. I got nowhere to go and still feel like bouncing. I'm looking for the closest window I can route from. Or for the highest speaker box that I can shout from. And I'm hoping to feel like something that's real. But it's no hope when you are but a spoke in the wheel. A brick in the wall trying to find an opening still. Having hard times trying to climb over the hill. So many hard times.