"His palms are sweaty
Knees weak arms are ready
There's vomit on his sweater already
Mom's spaghetti-- he's nervous
But on the surface he looks calm and ready
To drop bombs, but he keeps on forgetting
What he wrote down
The whole crowd goes so loud
He opens his mouth but the words won't come out
He's choking wow, but everybody's choking now
Clocks run out, time's up, over...."
--Marshal Mathers
This is the haze I'm in. There's something I have to tell the world, but
it's unexplainable.... and my pen is my worst enemy.
