When the leader fails at their job,
The people become angry,
When the leader makes a difficult choice,
The people decide that it was wrong,
When the leader gives it their all,
The people are filled with spite,
In the end,
The leader can't please everyone.

Once the leader is gone,
His people will run amok,
Once the leader fails,
His people will point it out,
Once the leader falls,
Another will take his place.

Why does my fear overrun?
I just want to be honest
And end all the forsaken lies,
But, again, my mind screams and cries,
Looking for a way to hold
Our currently standing ties.

Why be such a coward
When people say
That I’m a fearless Leo,
A Lionlike leader
That fears none which precede her,
And will stand for her rights
As well as uphold her dignity
Across these eternal nights.

I am not a lion...
I am just Aidan.

Do not follow the masses, for they are blind.
Do not ask for more, for more will always be less than before.
Do not regret a path once followed.
At one point that path is what you wanted.
Do not fear the night and it's overwhelming blackness.
It is the future unknown.
Chase it.

You follower. Fool follower!

Witch trials have began,
Hang the noose on Gallows Hill
And execute the land.

You follower. Wise follower!

With scales in your hand,
Weigh the truth and walk the path
Some missions must be manned.

To Ellac, I bequeath a nifty hat trick:
     The Treaty of Margas,
        Which Rome will probably now
          spit upon,
     The Sword of Mars,
        Once taken by your unscrupulous
          cousins, the Vandals,
     And Esperanto,
         For talk around the water cooler.

To Dingizich, I bequeath my Alexander the Great
     Commemorative plates and the Gaza Strip
         --have fun with that one.

To Emak, I bequeath the Goths
     --Visi, Ostro, and Joy Division.

To all my remaining children,
      I leave you a year's supply of
      Rice-A-Roni, the San Francisco treat.

To my many, many wives, too numerous to count,
      I leave my fingers and toes
      Or a portion thereof.

And to that one particular wife, you know who you are,
      I bequeath the title
     The Scourge of God.

antwone the gang leader always
be like: imma make a call; two
minutes and they here

regardless what the issue about:  
antwone always about dat
(and they always come for sure)

me? i ain't made for that
me just tizzop
ain't belong to antwone's
brotherhood

even if i wanted to:
they wouldn't let me

dem dudes roll heavy
while i note down outsider dreams with white ink on
black pages
you feel me?

antwone's dudes addicted to
drive-by-shootings
i'm deep inside; yet no part of that;
my handz not made for glockz

my hands are made for pens;
i'm from the ghetto; who cares?
my hands are made for pens
and if i'm broke i will
write with sparkling fingers

that is for certain therefore my death will be silver
my eyes be shiny like gold then
god is always by my side

you feel me god? good cause i feel you god (HEART)

last breath: tizzop's dead body will be floating on air
because a good man does the right thing (i want to be good)
dead brotherhoodlums be munched by icy blacktop
you feel me?
eternally doomed down there without air
i won't be there  

i am from the ghetto
who cares?  
my hands are made for pens

* WRITE TO SURVIVE

not a leader but
sideline observer
happy revelation