and for the record

I'm going back to the start
when everything was right, and every word was meant to be said
and in my head, I wrote down the most fulfilling of my language
to compare and contrast to the strangest of feelings I've ever felt.

and I swear that this will come out alright
because I'm taking my last hopes and throwing them to fire
I've got these pens and ideas and endless phrases
metaphors and rambling stages
of sentences, I pray convey my childish hopes of praises.

he's got it right, we're not in it for the best
we've all got our hopes and promises
of what we're meant to be, what we swear you'll see
if you just give us a chance, I swear you'll be impressed.

And I know, I've said this once before
while sprawled out on your bedroom floor
the sky's the limit, don't ever stop it
you've got it, kid, you've got it
deep inside your lungs and throat,
this air is screaming to give it hope
to show that you've got this message, please God, it's got to give.
because this screaming is my cheap street medicine.