I fought the only way I knew for this empty place you helped build. But you can bet these tired bones knew the story this whole time. I heard the rats and snakes outside these walls. Now tell me. How is it that they all know your name? “Forget what you thought you knew. There is no room for you here.”
But the thing that makes me the sickest is Songs aren’t owed to dogs like you. I might shake, my organs rattle, and my spine begins to bow, but at least I know that there is distance between your fingers and my throat. I’ll wash the charcoal from my hands and forget this ever happened. But most importantly, I’ll listen because they all had told me Songs aren’t owed to dogs like you.