The Last Standing

These days I wake in a daze but I wish I was sleep
Struggling to grasp something more than memories to keep
Ready to weep but pride tells me I should disregard shock
On guard, locked, guess school gave me one too many hard knocks

But its hard not to break down to pieces so thin
And so light that I get picked up and scattered in the wind
Like ashes into the sea, statues into debris
See that's what this do to me, "get past it", who would I be?

Who will I be? Before this skin rots into dirt
In the brief hang time before the drop to the earth
Someone who's worth it, someone who struggled, someone who tried
Even just someone who made it interesting? Well if it's mine to decide

Then I am the man who rejects a life of digging his grave
While we're living in caves - carcasses filling the cage
The man bleeding into the ink and wading in it for days
Till it's swimming with rage, fillin pens to spill on the page

To spit on the stage
I am the man facin the void
With no way to avoid the day that this place is destroyed
Who traded in the world's toys to find places for joy
Hidden somewhere in the image of his face as a boy

Under the sunset on an empire pressed with the best fighters
Fiddling mad while men set lighters to spread fires
The man hanging from lynch rope kicking to get higher
And loose but as he respires the noose gets tighter

I am the man battered and bruised yet with his fist protruded
Who found something amidst the ruins and intends to use it
Reaching out towards the Son to get a grip on his tunic
Prayin hard praisin God for the gift of the music
Its like, gift it or lose it, man's holdin to standards
Even comin out the wreckage of emotional damage
When well wishes start to sound like words spoken in Spanish
The man is climbin out the pitfalls with a rope and bandage (trail off) to brandish

The man holdin commandments, fuck who don't understand it
It's like the ancient Africans trackin the motion of planets
Ali and Basquiat putting they soul in the canvas
The same soul Jacob's brother up and sold for a sandwich
The man grateful for each and everything that he's handed
And for the strength to grab up everything that's rightly demanded
The man strumming till the ship sinks, braced for the crash landing
I am the man handing the torch

I am the last standing