That early morning lack of desire
The, waking up, staring at your alarm and
Questioning your will to rise out of bed
This is for the bag
But is it worth my sanity?
Is the constant return to the toxicity worth my mental health
Everyday I wallow in my own sorrow and misery
Just to get this bag
I swallow my pride and entertain people I don’t like
Just to gain money I won’t have tomorrow
Bills pile up as my depression and anxiety rise
Again and again and again I succumb every morning to the same lie
That I have to do this
That having this employment is a blessing and that this currency will save me from falling apart
Every morning I waste away in this place knowing I’m destined to be far more great
How many more times will I stare into the light
On my phone as if I were going blind as that sound burns a tone in my head
Screaming
GET UP NIGGA
How many times must I rise out of my bed,
Knowing that inside I feel dead every time
I hop in the shower
And put on my work clothes
Over and over again the grind continues
And I slowly creep into the descent
Of my own kind
Hating every moment of this grind