Life passing by like, 
flights passing high like, 
comets in the twilight - 
I watch em on my balcony, concoct my alchemy 
turn them into souls I believe are watching out for me, 
Give em names like maurice and sean, bernie and lillian 
It's often at dawn, the amber colour will remind me of talks 
in front of fires on the nights where the storms, 
swept the city clean, Leicester city team the only thing that mattered 
on a saturday, me, dad and grandad clapping in the rain 

it's sad, the stadium was knocked down years ago, 
wading in the past waters, waiting for the tear to flow 
inevitable, with every fall my skin grew thicker, 
way before I knew liquor, way before we rap battled in the school corridors
saying who's sicker, through a half-chewed snickers spitting bars
that would stick a-round, for a minute, then dissa- pear into the mirror?
Is it clearer who you really are?
My career interfering with my heart
I've just done two shows, not far from my home, 
said I was too busy left my Grandma alone, and only spoke of her in poems
instead of showing 
up to her living room, more like the surviving room 
what can my writing do, won't help you know me
Philomena Foley lonely still a dreamer slowly sinking on her old knees, 
I was meant to be there in order to support her back, 
instead I was performing the wrong sorta supporting act, 

it's important that, I don't let my pride distort the facts, 
yeah I was at Abbey Road recording tracks 
that don't make me John Lennon, and Celia aint Yoko 
reminding its loco that my vocals might be global, 
only local at the moment, the opponent to my ego 
she knows my arrogance is cancerous to talent
bank upon the fact, that there has to be a balance 
and Natwest don't care about who raps best 
so yeah i'm pretty broke, in a city full of pretty folk 
dizzy heights, busy lives and gritty smoke 
drifting on the wings on the easterly wind 
moon lining to the sun, like the queen to the king 
Above the world still dreaming for the freedom to ring
these are lyrical mementos, pitching up the tent poles 
camping in nostalgia, and the gardens of a lost world 
rarely got girls, we'd watch Jurassic park, 
mix coke with menthols, our version of firearms
playing knock and run till we all got tired arms 


I take it back, take it back 
Back to the spine, 
of a story unread, 
way back in a time 
when, the novels untold
now the pages unfold 
too quick for the chapter
to back and rewind