By: Taharqa Johnson
The pain…it’s stress
But to confess what I’m feelin, maybe you wanna hear it in my own words I guess
Until you ever stood back and watched your daughter drown—bound on this fear you’d do less good than harm for her
Knowin you’d stand by death palced on a last breath-bearing this rhythm in your chest as her shield of armor
But that protection from the world has left you blinded—to the unexpected flaw in the plan; you’ve become the crack that harmed her
That’s when the iconic, ironic and to be honest underestimated complex of karma
Turns on ya—its own soldier—and given she held your heart as a weapon—you stand in fear as you begin to disarm her
Tell me what happens when you mix alcoholic grains with oppressions of fame?
And a heart paraplegic to pain—isn’t it love shattering is silent repressions in vain
Let me explain: If she ask daddy to play and says go find mommy, she never ask where’s mommy? Tell me, where is she?
You stand a thief of stolen childhood—as she knows mommy’s never coming home—is she?
But maybe it’a all be okay if per say music’s got daddy so busy it raises a daughter to raise herself
The most felt wealth of a song that can’t write itself melts her sobs to die in the wind as she swings by herself
But in the height of the moment a symbolic omen causes you aware of the single tear drop shed from your eye by itself
While you rise from this paralyzed impaired sense of analyzing despair; etching the tears in to an epitaph for the dying love she felt
Because of this prosthetic heart—he feels it through the clunks and sparks; the regret of every missed kiss lately
Reminds him of in his life would always be there—and breaks throught the monster music made me—and sneaks in the first words, last verse: baby, please save me
The day you’re gone, I can’t keep pushing on
When if you kept me strong; just let the heart rejoice
To the sounds of even your faintest voice
Just to let you know if you’re surviving
Daddy’s coming home again
Into this life where it’ll be us again