The standard will not be met with election. Our king is 
not their king. I met the man I saw the face. I moved 
erratic evasive evasive. We're the dreaded backdraft of 
the arsonist king. Long live the king. Come come will you 
go? Let's go! Go Go Go. Turn back and you'll never know 
what it feels to burn like sun spot fire storms. Slaves 
to golden fumes. Come on. Come come will you go? Let's 
go! Go! Go! Turn back and you'll never know. How it feels 
to have your voice like a glock snap, click back, 
clearing out the room. The standard will not be met with 
a Capitalist. Our king is not their king. I offered up my 
back to those who beat me and spit in my face. I will not 
hide my face from you. I will not be put to shame. 
Therefore I will set my face like flint. I will not be 
disgraced. He pulled me out of the streets. He slammed my 
veins with kerosene. Bulimic fingers found the ghost, and 
now I can't stop heaving. I have been leaking on the 
floor. You could call it bleeding. No time to stitch me 
up. This dead man walks. Bury me. Death couldn't hold my 
King. Bury me. And it cannot hold me. Long live the king.