When they found my body it was scattered.
So i left New York with 47 bucks in my boots
The same boots I wear when I am forced to fight
THe same bad ass boots I'll be wearing when the bury me.
Cause all bitches go to heave we just have to break down doors to get inside.
The day i found out you were dead i tattooed the word MOVE on my wrist
I wanted to get stay.
But i figured since you were already gone it wouldn't do me much good so I got MOVE.
Cause see we are addicts.
With a needle locked in an already loaded arm
Like bulletts jammed in the barrell
backfiring, BaCkFiRiNg, BACKFIRING BANG
I would slip into sobriety trying to eat with the spoon that was burnt n black from the batches of herion
bent like a question mark asking me "HOW MUCH CAN YOU STOMACH TODAY?"
January 21 2005 they found a small beautiful girls body found in a brown haired pile of bones.
The men that murdered me were the men I used to use with,
Men I would kiss and call friend.
But i learned early that when your hungry for a drug.
FRIEND would just be some sh*t you'd say so someone would feed you.
You were blind and reckless for another taste so they killed you for a fix.
Dumped you somewhere ugly, figured that noone would find out
but my body remained like a careless fingerprint left as a quiet indictment of our broken lives.
But maybe i should have put stay because i stayed quiet for years.
The same kind of quiet you'll find when theres a secret held between two people.
Pressed together like spoons,
bent like a question mark, asking me "is this alright?"
how long will it take my body to decompose?
THe day they printed your obituary i changed my name and never said yours outloud again.
Your the secret I have worn instead of skin--your the reason I still need my boots cause Ive kicked habits bad enough to kill most people.
But i cant kick your memory.
And until then there isn't much reason to stay so I'll just MOVE.