You type your notes. Fa sho. Yet you don’t know the con Sequences of your actions. You’re like a slippery slope. ‘Cause your gorgeous frame, It sets off all of my attraction. Miss, your words are just a click away, And they keep me smiling. I just deleted you, So I’d never have to see the pictures of her, On her bed frame, riding him. But on that other note, You’re all I want to be, I see this in your writing. I’m sure this song will work, To create an awkward silence, The next time we’re eyeing. But miss, your words are just a click away, And they keep me smiling. Sad I deleted you, So I never get to see the pictures of you, Living your life, smiling. And every single thing has changed, Yet still you stayed the same. And my words, they try to emulate, Your poetry, yet fade. Yes miss, your words are just a click away, And they keep me smiling. Move onto something new, ‘Cause I never worked up all the courage, To ask you if…

And I wonder if my parents never split Or if the country cared what the Nazis did And if you took me to White Forest Would I be lynched or would I live? And I suppose. Yeah, I suppose. That I could never search or, Know for sure. But could I know, Yeah, could I know, The endless acres that this forest burned. And I wonder if the first Americans Arrived in boats and had white skin And it worries me that there are no trees In this concrete White Forest And I suppose, Yeah, I suppose. That I could never search or, Know for sure. But could I know, Yeah, could I know, The endless acres that this forest burned. Give me a house Give me a pool And a two-car garage, and a piano that I’ll never play Give me a road with my own designated lane Give me a pink sky, blue eyes, green breeze, white trees Take me to White Forest I want to live that way!

Some things are better left unsaid, Yes, some deeds are better unknown, And none of mine show. This page seeks my right hand, WIth promises to widen all that I hold, Yet my eyes grow old. Riddled with ink marks of the dead, Who stood to shift the world by their eyes, If I stood to leave these marks unread, Then my ink won’t fall by the wayside. The road winds. And we call erratic. ‘Cause roadside, Is where we’re ever safe. To hesitate. And call out hate, But never change. Yet bludgeoned bodies fill such books for pages, Red ink anthologies for every age and, Blood wars to rattle up our souls and set the stages, To clench my fists, expel my lungs, As if one man could do enough. That night you hollered, “There must be something waiting,” “There must be something, Terrible that halts your every move.” “So start and take up a stand.” “So just lift up your right hand.” “So make that change,” “Avoid the day you’ll say, ‘I never…’” You’re right, my Baby Girl. You’re right, my Baby Girl, And I swear I will never… You’re right, my Baby Girl. You’re right, my Baby Girl, And I swear I will never stop. “Hesitate.” (HOLLER. AND. SCREAM. OUT. LOUD.) “I’ll never change.” (SCREAM. RIGHT. NOW.) Riddled with ink marks of the dead, Who stood to shift the world by their eyes. If I stood to leave these marks unread, Then my ink won’t fall by the wayside. By the wayside. By the wayside. By the wayside. By the wayside.