

Prompt / Lyrics
If I knew the us of the just Judging time Losing us the arc just before the release, Of a clue signifying who what waited behind theplan or just beyond the eye's reach, you say it would halt the momentum, this present strain around us. Vacancy in manys of places We cannot afford the empty spaces, Once we can afford yah as one in California Cant afford to lose anymore people Cant afford to lose what I got left Too many goodbyes to much dept Don't judge don't label If you're still here Don't walk out to Cant afford to lose you the gaps where laughter used Understand, I mean truly grasp it, overstood, stand stood, a rooted knowing. It's not behind me, The world tilts on that axis of loss. And there is the constant voices, listening, always listening to the heard of opinions, the whispers of doubt. Though for certain stood on lies Thural the mind didn't say you knew who I was Not not for any to mind, sorting through options, always seeking the clearer path for yourself to make myself stop Around you, if you truly look, the patterns emerge, like water seeking its level. Prior occasions surface, in the periphery, moments easily twisted, misplaced, misunderstood. And you see it then, the clear, double on the molds of comprehension that you are being shaped, used almost, Know now most of are leaving a tool in another person’s ascent, their self-made pedestal. Where does the sturdy thing called loyalty root itself? Is it, just for the self, It seems to shift, a desert bloom in a sudden storm, changing shape as righteousness itself bends. This constant flux, this ethical tightrope walk, this swirling confusion of right and less-than-right, this is precisely the bedrock, the solid reason I find myself suggesting a pause, a deep breath, a quiet recalculation before the next pitch is thrown. The weight of unknowing is heavy, a cloak woven from might-have-beens and what-ifs that sting like dry air. If only the trajectory were mapped, if the consequence of every action was not a mystery unfolding in real time, perhaps the tension in the shoulders would ease, and the fear of the next unavoidable impact would soften its grip on the turning world. But we stand here, perpetually guessing the wind, hoping the best intentions land softly.
Tags
trap soul 808
3:12
No
2/26/2026