LOW

Head hung down low, fist hung up high, fighting to survive since the day I was born. I guess I live and learn with the bridges I burn and see the dreams through the smoke I leave behind. They can make my body, but they can not take my mind or what is left of mine to keep, and I sleep at night knowing I continuing to fight the good fight.

I want to scream as I gather up their stones to build my castle as I know I stand in the shadow of cold, all with the wind against my back, all alone, and my head is hung down low, and my fist hung up high. I will get out of this place alive.

I am giving it my best; I am getting no rest. This is my life; I am the last one standing. This is no longer a test. The snakes are hanging over my head, and soon, the bastards will find themselves dead.

I'm shining my light down the tunnel with my head down low, following the glow and the rhythm sink or swim. I'm going to win because that's what I'm living.