Rhys Langston - To Be Specific (A Short Story by Muckraker Jones) lyrics

“Hash tag, f** hashtag,” Said the Arab Sinbad As he strolled down the plaza De la zona de amistad Messenger bag All he had A decade of poetry drafts Puddles from the last evening of rain His feet splashed Recollected on the night Inside the arms that wouldn't hold weight To be specific 166 (a conversation until daybreak) Pate unshaven at the gate He waited Security check, totally random Mistook as a weapon Inside his wallet, the card of fate On then were his shoes To begin the walk of shame A misnomer's what he thought Sought to file change of name But he knew language wasn't his to own And neither were the trees that stood before him All arranged in a poem Open mouth of the path that Triangled before him The route to a cage That reminded him of home Unzipped further each step Until a page fell every second Wind bowed the surrounding branches Their dead, white cousins beckoned Flat and inked, externalized mind messages All on behalf of one man's worst Too early to be open The shops' windows he peeked in: The mannequin's naked breath Harked his self-a**essed sins He Wanted no goods No ID matched his new background Listless, sound Resigned the notion he was profound He met her downtown The jokes quick Effacement of any nervousness His memory spurred, the curb His first tears dropped, closed lips No capacity for “f** it” Self-blame stopped his feet Knees buckled as He spit silence A ceiling above Away he swept the covers Surely overslept Screwed dreams Adding another entry To the log book He thought it was crooked His neck On rising that gave the pain The fall came Mind's reminder, placing the time frame And then there was her touch His name spoken in The voice of a crutch Looked up Rang through his head Their eyes met Her at the edge of the bed She said—