AMP: Artists' Meeting Place and Resource Collective

I'm speakin of hell...every fuckin weekend I dwell
On this redundant life cycle that repeated itself
No different from the last, but the beat of it spells
Imprisonment from nine to five, it keeps me in jail
A humble mind is crumblin, to flakes and ash I'm stumblin
While takin cash to pump it in, to gas's taxation
A nation's addiction, to be burnin oil...my jubilation
Reached its boiling point, as my sermon coils in truth - my patience
Left the hospital, impatiently as my premonition
Strapped itself to when my vision's, windshield was clean...
As I windmill through dreams, fantasies of who I used to be
A life liver drop out, reminiscin on who I used to see
A copout of mine, was that I had no time to write a rhyme
Thoughts grew insecure, so now I hide this idle life of mine.