I would rather be a statistic!
My little girl is my world, my star and my universe
distant from the unbearable quasar which is her mother
I cannot describe her while maintaining homeostasis or my positive energy
Vulgar clouds are storms
My terminology is so derogatory without intent
See I was made of sand
Almost every grain of me poured through her hands that which I am
A man holding an idea, a wish called love
We are two schizophrenics
I indulge in internal conversations and she locks herself in a state of paranoia and alarm
which dissolves my dreams
It is not right
I would rather be a statistic
Put me in a category!
All you know are bits and pieces of my gory story
On the cliff of an edge holding on to together
Call me fool, naive, young for investing in forever
Till the emotional bank told me insufficient funds, I tried to hustle cause I needed just one
From heaven he says, "Money cannot fix it son."
I asked god, "How come? It is true where I'm from."
As a child, I grew up... believing that if a man worked hard enough he could change his
situation. I never wanted all the stuff
I had it rough and statistically predictably it interest me that I have to be unhappily faking in
Call me statistic, baby daddy, but never rogue father
It still will not faze me. I am here for my daughter