The cauldron is bubbling, I smell it, responsibility, I applied for a call center position, but why does it, seem greedy, burn, burn, as the river flows, maybe it will inspire some art, where is reality, amongst all of it, can we just go to space, and settle there, be gods and goddesses, erect crosses, the world and it’s people, such a lovely story, if I go too far, can my soul be taken from me, copied and pasted, just words, they really mean nothing, the blood, sweat, and tears, that go into battle after battle, are they not real, choices, choices, layer after layer, the world remembers him, the Southern Gentleman, the art that he made, all that he created, after he left, the world couldn’t bear to part with it, it’s why I love Mac Miller, what a wonderful reflection, after I’ve passed, who will inherit this, just words, just fire, anyone, can carry the mantle, go to pilot school, you’ll function just the same, become a bus driver, carry it, all those people, and they’re fate, we’re just men, the night sky and his story, who cares which puppet he uses, history will play out, the river will flow, just the same…

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