The Nazarite

Wasn't nothing to ask, and wasn't nothing to be told/

I've been burdened with cracks, in everything that I know/

And when it's time to relax, I feel a scratch in my throat/

That's telling me to go back to see if I have some hope/

Run tell that, that the functions exposed/

I've been loved for that, but I've been hated by most/

And when the blood comes back, to where it naturally flows/

I'll bite through tongue and through tacks, to prove that I have a soul/

Marigold petals always littering my brain/

I've been trained to be dim but I was born to be aflame/

Awake in the most honest way I possibly can be/