Framed

Killing season
Writing off bad vibes, yeah, it's killing season
Satan and his serpents started lurkin
People acting friendly, see through bloody smirkin'
Serpents conniving, demons surviving and thriving
Whispers of inadequacy, emphatically
Bringing me to lows erratically
Got me thinking if this is beneficial to what I am striving
Feeling downcast, got so much pride and emotion
Not sure I should sing, I hear my voice and get the notion
That maybe it's not for me, despite my devotion
Hit these depths like I'm an anchor in the ocean

But Screw that, I'm a lyricist
Too much time focused on me
Got me feeling like a narcissist
Almost quitting this got me feeling so pissed
Like, why would I let you twist?
Maybe the vision changed
Tell me why I feel drained
Why do I take the blame?
If I didn't know better, I'd say I've been framed
Feeling like I've been framed
Like I've been...

Screw that, now I'm writing bad vibes
I burnt the archives, starting new scribes
Serpents calling out against my whines
Old habits have to die, killed the cancer in my tribe
Now I'm the one who's writing dark songs
Nothing more for you to sing along
Blame behemoths that stayed too long
Now I'm collecting names, they did me wrong
Once Sore and worn, now I've grown calloused
I'm so bitter trying to find a balance
Cause I'm hungry and I have different palate
God plan, and message overcome my like of talent

So screw everyone of you who you gifted this doubt that I wrestle
Guilty regift, but this time as twisted poetic carols
I can spend my life being bitter, but I'm just a vessel
Am I successful, is this detrimental?
Can't you see why music's stressful?
If I don't share with honesty then the blame is on me
If open up too much then come chasing after me
If I open up too much I'll be shamed, be blamed
And you wonder these artists feel framed

Sometimes it feels like no one understands the pain or the urgency
I see faces acting like they know me but begging for my conformity
Sometimes I hope the don't investigate these harmonies
Cause in this industry you can celebrate anything as long as its artfully
Sometimes I think Jesus is the only one who understands me perfectly
But then why do I find myself morbidly scornfully?
If we're connected why would I be downcast, mournfully?
Maybe we should get together, for some balance and normalcy

Balance between piercing thoughts and the silence
Balance between my company and a vacant palace
Balance between it's not me, I'm a part of God's apparatus
Where am I? The wheel's still turning, can't check the status

But there's a pressure and demand for now
To wow, know how, devour and chow and still allow
Society, industry, people, the busy bee's to demand our vows
Pledge and adore, and yet we see these artists with depression somehow
We find ourself in an Industry selling depression
It makes me wonder and it makes me question
Authenticity of artists and their fake confessions
It kills me cause I know so many facing real oppression

I hope I'm not becoming vain or cynical
I set out with compassion and mission passion
But so often I find myself feeling critical
Am I still dreaming? Limits in all I imagine
I might need to take break, while things are seeming opaque
Shake out the fake, in need of rest, maybe comeback when I wake
Maybe come to terms and arbitrate
With the part of me feeding me thoughts that regurgitate

He famed, he aimed, and reigned I am ashamed
I'm pained, I inflamed his raid
And never thought he'd become untamed
It's over, I'm done, I'm sick of feeling framed