Is now our certain time? Existance. Or are we stalled? Far from the road's end. Too distant to accomplish. This space is a tired lung. Muggin Got my stripes on, Gotta match son Cause if you're the young one, Then stand like a man, Your purpose you must demand. Just us, matching up the palms of our hands Scream out, Damn the world, Blam the man! We are no inferior residents
