training day

wondering about the weight of the crown is as bad as wandering with the face of a clown.

i possess neither but stand in detest of the delighter.
you know, the rough and rowdy flame igniter,

He who breathes exhaust and needs no lighter.

He’s the one who sees a wimp and turns that simp into a fighter.

He mutes him so that there’s no sound to sound when he wants to cry about how he’s tired.

it’s Him who inflicts the pain but it’s not in vein, it’s to get him to open his eyes a little wider.

He’ll withhold the gain, and send clouds of rain just to make his future brighter

He won’t even let him blink because that might cause the breeze that extincts his fire.

there's no knowledge of time or use for rhyme, so He doesn’t understand the word, “expire”.

but one day He’ll remove the stain so i can stand and prove that my robe cant be no whiter.

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