It’s not an accident I’m multi faceted When I love something I dive head first until I master it Yo I bleed for my art, but I’m no masochist I just can’t live while holding all this passion in It’s not decision for me It’s the dichotomy of dying or just living homie I feel the worst when I’m silent at home and I’m sitting lonely Brother that’s story of life like it was already written for me It used to feel like an imprisonment Many times I tried quitting this But these withdrawal symptoms, I was itching in my fingertips To try to fly again and again even when I felt my wings were clipped I can’t blame anyone else Truth be told I was forging weapons against myself So regardless if I’m attacked repeatedly I could never escape being me