Just Spitting Up The Flem

If Saint Anthony is the Saint of the lost and found
Please help me find my heart I know its around
I am not dead so its not underground
And a hoe dont have it running around town,
Its in between my torso lost between the sound.

Oh My! that press called Ecstacy
Hid it read well like it wasnt left in me
But it showed me the doors just didnt give me the key
Just reassured myself that I am who is free
But I had to come down now the rest is on me
I dont need presses cause I have tree
This is In Knowing Whats Best & getting to know me
The world could be music and sweet poetry
But gotta stand up and feel the same hope in me.

The timeline never ends
But these elements I will make my friends
Though Sometimes I broke and bend
I never wanna bring a tragic end
Ill make right just spitting up the flem