I think I've lost my muse. What's a young black man to do? Im riding round' the city looking for inspiration, but I turn the news on and see segregation. I'm not in the mood for destruction, cause I'd much rather have a luncheon. Unfortunately my life is in shambles. Should I hit the strip and make a big gamble? Should I put my life on the line and go Rambo? To the untrained eye I might seem hostel. But with an untrained mind you'd much rather be at a brothel. Luckily I'm trained in both so I move in silence like my neighbors are sleep. And I cover my moves no one gets a peek. I'm willing to dive but not that deep. If you're willing to climb though tell me how steep. And we can reach the top with hopefully God to meet. I heard it's lonely up there, that's just the thing. At the bottom they just all seem to cling. I need space to think and I'll drop you a rope when I want you near me. We can discuss who matters and why this world is so mean, but until then I'll find a new muse and be discreet
