Pushing down the street.
Calming down the fast paced heartbeats.
The gravel bags slipping through shaky hands.
To travel down the block to meet demands.
Grams and eight balls ready.
More heads asking for special cookies.
Bandanna around the face with the dark blue hoodie.
Purity is high. Ready to be bagged and supplied.
Sleep deprivation at its finest.
Insomnia is your highness.
Energy through the roof.
Continue and soon you’ll go poof.
No need to care though.
Because money is coming in at the low.
While you’re stuffing your face with pure snow.
Facade built up to cover up the dirty face.
Breaking apart slowly.
Soon he’ll lose his grace.
Sinful and unholy. But this is his ace.
Something he can’t just erase.
The tornado and hail will kill him.
He doesn’t see it.
He can’t end it.
But he’s inviting death to come over.
He can feel it getting colder.
And sooner or later his life will come to a closure.
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Itarow Krähe 