then there was colour Lyrics

I had to centre myself, be at one

Take a step back from all that I've created and realise what it is that I have done

My art is an extension of my heart and is not laid

Before the public in order to be judged

I need to realize that

Each time I step on a stage I become so afraid

And I hate who it is that I become

A nervous wreck, a shadow of my former self now

I know these words sound dumb as I stand upon a stage

And perform a piece that I originally created purely for the fun

For the escape, for what it means to me

I need to realise that the microphone is not my enemy

It is here to magnify, amplify all that is in me

When faced with it my words will clutch the air in each lung

My brain forgets how to send signals to my tongue

Betrayed by my own instincts my instincts scream

That I should create I should perform

But my legs, my legs tell me I should run

Even in the studio

I can be as comfortable as possible but the nerves are colossal

The words are there, the beats prepared, and I buckle

I know how I should sound, how I should look

I remember the emotion when the lyrics inside poured out

I pretend that I have tried everything

I pretend no one will hear it, I pretend I don't care

But when I hit R keyboard and logic enables record

The metronome clicks one, two, three, four I feel so scared

I am obsessed with perfection, with honesty, with trust, with creation

And it is so hard trying to juggle these things

When you're subconsciously unwilling wanting protection

I cannot stand the way I sound on certain songs

I cannot stand how much I hold back when I perform

Turns out I have been searching for confidence in all the wrong places

Thinking that the more words I laced through pages

The less scared I would be on the rare occasions my feet take to stages

I was wrong

It's all down to the experience. The shows. The people. The life that lived

The energy. The art. The talent. Create… My gift

I am so done being ashamed of my art

I am a rapper

That sentence is normally followed by an explanation…

You know not the chavy type, it's more old school, more poetic, less harsh

So scared of being judged. So scared of being thought of as less

What makes me feel my art worthless. thought as the lesser to express

And even more to the point. Why do I care

Why do I burden myself with the thoughts of worry of what lies

Behind the eyes of those blank stares

Writing means the world to me and is the fibre of my very being

Though I am lacquered in self doubt. Self destruction. Self sabotage

I cannot deny this feeling

I am done with the courteous seek of approval and the want to be appealing

This is ours. our art. our creation. our love

This is made from dust and dreamer's blood