you they touch the tail light to drain me of the little power i do have.

they feed off it.

they leave me with fear of not being able to walk away.

but i’ll be damned if it’s either you or me,

because it’ll always be me who—

falls slain to your artillery. 

i know my death with spark a movement so i guess then you’ll feel the heat.

don’t go to al sharpton—

i want them niggas to die the same way they killed me.