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What could I positively say but my heart is a wasteland? 
Spat on, crapped on, used up and thrown out.
So used that it's barren.
My mind is a wasteland in its own existence
Not knowing which way is right, which way is wrong.
Wanting to escape these thoughts to which I belong.
 
Wasteful thinking.
Thinking somebody gives a damn about me.
Shoot, I only got this paper to confess to, that and God.
Don't nobody want to  know about my troubles all the mess that I run through day 
by day. I talk, but they look the other way.
 
Dang, I'm tired of writing this mess having to look to paper to confess.
All this crap is just a part of my wasteland.
Don't nobody want to come near it, cause they freakin' fear it
'cause then they would have to see that I am blacker than black and as black as 
black can be. 
 
Oh but from afar the wasteland don't look too bad.
She's a nice little cute negro sittin' on a freakin' pedastool in her freakin' 
wasteland.
Oh I know about her cause I listen to rap! Yeah, yeah, Wu Tang, Jay Z, City High 
and Nappy Roots,
by the way, what does nappy mean? 
 
Shes the one in the bunch, you know that "token" chick.
Don't really care to experience her little you know like "hood" like "wasteland"
Keep her over there, she's fine right there. 
 
Yeah yeah, I know you keep your comfort  zone set at "not close enough to the 
wasteland"
You see my whole mind, body and heart is a wasteland, one you ought not step 
into, you don't want to get dirty.
Its been beat on, crapped on, stepped on, used and left barren,
left like a desert with no sea,
in its existence lies me

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