They Don’t Retire Slaves.
They don't get to choose how they die...
Take the time to look…
They don’t retire slaves.
Do you really want to work
until inside your grave?
Never leave the beaten path
because you were afraid?
Doesn’t mean you found your lane
because the road was paved.
But they say you sound insane,
if you become bold.
Refrain,
From following paint that has grown old
A stain,
leading you to places that you’ve known is pain.
But we’d rather know the pain,
than to hope and pray.
We’d rather know the way,
than to cope with age.
Failing to cross the tolls we’re supposed to pay.
ones that may have slowed
but help us cope today.
Cause if I create a way,
that could make it fade.
The security I get from all the debts I’ve paid.
In debt,
before I even had to take a name.
They hold me back…
they also make me sane.
I’m not coloring in ways that make me question aim.
A pain each generation faces
I could have changed but
feared the fangs
of having new directions laid.
When I die inside the lines
At least you can say we paint the same.