The Early Years
Country born, among the thorns From my mind the pages torn Well fed, town bred The ivory player with big head Red rooms, bedrooms Blood was boiling way too soon Nimrod trained, heaven stained Accepting of the unexplained Too wise, weak eyes The eagle scout who seldom cries Favorite son, close to none Sgt. Peppers lonely one Many weeds, trampled creeds Stepped down off my callous steed Mass suppression, no aggression Wasted years of teen depression The criticism bread witticisms Free to wear my mysticism Revolving masters, sure disaster Rhymes were coming ever faster Young man, confused stand Searching for a trusting plan Unheard pleas at G.C.C. Well run ship in fierce seas Melancholic, stacks-a-holic Caught a fever, now its chronic Pounds lighter, freedom fighter The fantasies were getting brighter Can’t ignore what’s in store Miss the rapture, get more pure Written March 23rd, 2002 © on Mar 22 2002 04:11 PM PST, yes 18 • 0 • 10
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"Country born, among the thorns..."