Heard the words before I spoke ’em, saw the smoke before the flame. Mercy for the boy I buried, grace for the man with my name. What comes next gets no excuses keep your word or wear the blame Proof hit the table before the plea, heard the verdict before they questioned me. Hear six strings before I touch ’em, feel strong legs before I leave. So whoever wakes up wearing all the choices made by me: Get up when the mood says later. Call before the silence breeds. Eat. Sleep. Lift. Walk. Finish pages, finish weeks. Stay hard enough to not get played, soft enough to fucking think. And if being right gets lonely, maybe right ain’t what you need. I’m imposing one condition on the face I haven’t seen: Don’t inherit my excuses inherit what I mean. Heard the words before I spoke em, saw the smoke before the flame. Mercy for the boy I buried, grace for the man with my name. What comes next gets no excuses, no “I meant to,” no “I changed.” Keep your word or wear the blame. - Tell that kid, quit leaving early just to swear you chose the door, you were broke, pissed off, half-lost—still you made it through the war. Keep the books, keep six strings, keep the chessboard by the bed, just quit turning every question to a courtroom in your head. I forgive the dead phone, dim room, whole week slipping out of tune, ice clink, late shift, saying “soon” till Sundays buried June. Forgive being hard as hell when being right was all I knew, for building locks out of conviction, then forgetting doors go through. Funny _ I hear “change” before I change it, feel the bruise before the swing. Somewhere down the line I’m paying for a debt I haven’t made yet. So I send the receipt upstream. Wear the blame or keep your word. No excuses for what’s next. Grace for the man still breathing. Mercy for the kid I left. Saw the flame before the smoke. Heard the words after they left. I ask myself what changed. The answer comes back first You did.
