We can control what gets sung into history
 What gets created
 to heal from with
 a bittersweet symphony.

I wrote you a song
 using our tongues 
 without much wordplay.
 The way you'll hear it
 is first feeling past 
 what the words say. 

Between the rhymes I 
 tore pieces off my toughest skin;
 Conjured the glass from
 trauma, lust, nostalgia, 
 which once left me broken. 
 So every note you mimic
 casts letters of reflection

Head nod to the bass,
 the depth,
 of boisterous voices
 exchanging vices 
 and poetry making 
 runs in racing hearts
 before the inevitable
 Rest...

This one's different though
 The breakdown was difficult
 Got overcome by Pope dreams
 and falsely glorified hood means
 My crooning heart got weighed down
 With a mad of surface demons
 The depth was rigged with Plexiglas
 And made a fun house of skin
 that's now only "in season".

In vain, we search for meaning. 
 Moms taught me with her singing
 Don't go faking what you feeling

What's at the core is sincere
 All the glory don't change
 which connects us year
 After year, after tear,
 This is our words of mouth,
 Heart to heart, ear to ear 
 History 
 From the collective souls' bittersweet symphonies.