I keep what I hear and see and try to arrange them into a perfect melody,

So no one will know what will come out of my mouth or mind next.

They will have no clue because it will be written in a different text,

Whether it’s my present, future, or past.

If it's a day I want to end or night I want to last,

Those critics will be too far to understand,

That when I reach out my hand to try and make them listen to my perfectly arranged melody,

They pull away,

Stubborn toward the way the trumpets play.

And of course, I stay standing here wondering why they don’t see the world as I do.

Mistaking what is false for true.

But at times it's not completely silent to their ear.

Sometimes I say things that they fear,

Like there is more to this melody than what they choose to hear.

I say, “You can see statues and towers that were made far before you and come back and tell Stories that are told to be untrue.”

But, when I say things they wonder, those critics do nothing but ponder my authenticity.

If I’m really speaking reality or just bluffing the truth.

Too bad for them I have no couth.

I say what I think and sometimes speak without thinking,

And that is what drowns me…

Or keeps me from sinking.

And when those critics come back,

(I doubt they will) They’ll regret their past decisions because I have some pretty bigshoes to fill.

I am a leader and I don’t want my time to be killed.

I have climbed mountains, and come out of self-made ruts.

I have internal bruises, bloody noses, and cuts,

To prove that I have never been never backed down from the bully known as life.

And yes, I do things with a little too much strife,

But that’s okay!

Right?

Anyway, I can’t make those critics see what they don’t.

Or make them listen to the poetic words I have wrote.

But when I succeed without a halt,

And live my life with no faults,

Those critics will come back with a plea,

To listen to my perfectly arranged melody.