People Don’t Even Know Me

People don't even know me, So why they judge me, slowly? Ain’t this a free country? Then why I feel trapped, feel push — feel “budge”-y? Am I not too pitiful, Or maybe... y’all think I’m beautiful? Y’all blind, or just dumb? Thinking I’m soft — when I’m mad, when I’m numb? You know what’s funny?! Having you as my bunny! You think I’m gonna pull over? Nah... I’ll just run you over. Why you in my face? Didn’t your mama teach you grace? You preaching like a saint — But even saints fake when the paint flake. People don’t care if you cry, They say "you’ll be fine", but they lie. Do I gotta ask why? Nah… Just give me one real one by my side. Don’t need to be fine when I got wine. Don’t need light, I’m good in the blind. I’ll go blue, do, die, maybe rewind — Cry, die, lie… then pretend I’m fine. Green grass. Blue sky. Brown dirt. Black knife. Skin cut. Does it hurt? You feel that? That burn in the flame? It’s pain. Real pain. It’s got no name. Don’t look at me with those eyes — I don’t want your fear, your fake, your lies. I want the devil’s gain, the devil’s fire, I want the burn that don’t expire.