Vengeance on the line and it know my government, know my old address, know my weak side, know the song that played when the bad thing happened, know the smell of the room, know the date I pretend I forgot, know the names I don’t say because names are handles and grief got grip, it say pick up, beloved, pick up, victim, pick up, soldier, pick up, villain, pick a mask, any mask, all of them fit, and I almost do, God forgive me or don’t, I almost do, thumb hovering over the green like a little guillotine, eyes red, teeth grit, bassline shaking the window frame, outside two kids kicking a flat ball under a dead lamp, somebody shouting upstairs, somebody crying through drywall, somebody laughing too loud because the alternative got claws, and I can feel the whole estate breathing through me, every bad break, every cut corner, every unpaid hour, every closed door, every cousin buried early, every dad that vanished, every mum that stayed till staying broke her spine, every brother who learned hardness before hygiene, every sister who learned suspicion before sleep, every kid who made armor out of sarcasm, every man who mistook armor for skin, every woman who kissed war and called it normal, every elder who turned silence into family tradition, all of them in my chest like a jury, and vengeance says see, you owe them fire, you owe them proof, you owe them a headline, but I’m tired of headlines, tired of candles, tired of murals, tired of boys becoming warnings, tired of pain getting a beat and no exit, tired of the hood being filmed only when it’s bleeding, tired of outsiders calling our grief aesthetic, tired of insiders calling our numbness strength, tired of my own mouth making threats at the mirror because it can’t admit it wants to be held, yeah, that’s the gutter truth, raw and embarrassing, underneath the revenge is a man with his coat on indoors, underneath the wrath is a text that never came, underneath the cold stare is a loved one fight for life she didn't ask for this fucking shit man... nobody did.... Vengeance on the line, I let it ring, I let it ring, I let it ring till the whole room dont move an inch, till the wall paint sweat, till the roaches stop mid-step like they heard God cough through a blocked sim Vengeance on the line, I let it ring, I let it ring, I let it ring till the whole room dont move an inch, till the wall paint sweat, till the roaches stop mid-step like they heard God cough through a blocked sim Vengeance on the line, I let it ring, I let it ring, I let it ring till the whole room dont move an inch, till the wall paint sweat, till the roaches stop mid-step like they heard God cough through a blocked sim kindness sometimes come wrapped around a favor, and favors grow teeth, teeth grow names, names grow cases, cases grow shame, shame grow silence, silence grow violence inside the chest where nobody pat-downs the weapon, and I’m trying, bro, I’m trying not to let the weapon be me, trying not to let the lesson be bleach, trying not to let the pressure teach my pulse how to worship damage, but the vengeance on the line keep talking greasy, saying remember when they laughed, remember when they left, remember when they knew you were bleeding and asked for more, remember when you had nothing and they still took notes, remember when your pain was entertainment, remember when your loyalty got auctioned, remember when your softness got mistaken for spare change, remember, remember, remember, and memory is a butcher with a soft voice, memory is a landlord with duplicate keys, memory is a court clerk stamping guilty on your sleep, I remember too much, that’s my crime, that’s my gift, that’s my glitch, that’s my grime, mind full of CCTV, chest full of 140, grime kicks cracking through the sternum, burn one, learn none, turn numb, come back, curse God, hug mum, laugh dumb, act fine, flatline halfway then rewind, no face in the porch light, old rage dressed nice, new grief talking slick, I ain’t got revenge money, I got rent money missing, I ain’t got war plans, I got washing in the sink, I ain’t got time to be mythic, I’m late for a shift, but the dark wants drama and the dark got scripts. Vengeance on the line, I let it ring, I let it ring, I let it ring till the whole room dont move an inch, till the wall paint sweat, till the roaches stop mid-step like they heard God cough through a blocked sim Vengeance on the line, I let it ring, I let it ring, I let it ring till the whole room dont move an inch, till the wall paint sweat, till the roaches stop mid-step like they heard God cough through a blocked sim Vengeance on the line and it know my government, know my old address, know my weak side, know the song that played when the bad thing happened, know the smell of the room, know the date I pretend I forgot, know the names I don’t say because names are handles and grief got grip, it say pick up, beloved, pick up, victim, pick up, soldier, pick up, villain, pick a mask, any mask, all of them fit, and I almost do, God forgive me or don’t, I almost do, thumb hovering over the green like a little guillotine, eyes red, teeth grit, bassline shaking the window frame, outside two kids kicking a flat ball under a dead lamp, somebody shouting upstairs, somebody crying through drywall, somebody laughing too loud because the alternative got claws, and I can feel the whole estate breathing through me, every bad break, every cut corner, every unpaid hour, every closed door, every cousin buried early, every dad that vanished, every mum that stayed till staying broke her spine, every brother who learned hardness before hygiene, every sister who learned suspicion before sleep, every kid who made armor out of sarcasm, every man who mistook armor for skin, every woman who kissed war and called it normal, every elder who turned silence into family tradition, all of them in my chest like a jury, and vengeance says see, you owe them fire, you owe them proof, you owe them a headline, but I’m tired of headlines, tired of candles, tired of murals, tired of boys becoming warnings, tired of pain getting a beat and no exit, tired of the hood being filmed only when it’s bleeding, tired of outsiders calling our grief aesthetic, tired of insiders calling our numbness strength, tired of my own mouth making threats at the mirror because it can’t admit it wants to be held, yeah, that’s the gutter truth, raw and embarrassing, underneath the revenge is a man with his coat on indoors, underneath the wrath is a text that never came, underneath the cold stare is a loved one fight for life she didn't ask for this fucking shit man... nobody did....
