Always in the back, dreams of lead rolls to hold us.

But we're passed over more than old tapes of Gold Dust.

As the value of words goes lower than gold does,

I tell him "The money's worth more than the trees."

He said "It's funny, I thought that too, but listen please;

I was razed in a place where lead's a side to protein

Mother's melts rocks, at best only codeine. 

Slurring, slipping speaking in only soft phonemes.

And all you people see is two chains,

if you really could just see the whole thing"

Soft turn, and he left me with the back his sweatshirt.

Power still ringing from the words of his last curse.

Underneath the black hoodie a line of vest under shirt,

I pray the diamonds and gold don't stress him first.