(Dream, dream, I like to dream)

Both
That's why I keep my nose to the stone, sharp til the hairs split
Prose of a lone cub in a bear's pit
And I can barely sit still, 
You know the deal: wake, work, repeat
I'm trying to eat,
I'm trying to free up them wings, trying to bare some teeth 
Insignificance ain't no signature I'm trying to leave
Set a precedent for me, trying to teach it to my seed
No predicament too twisted for speech, I'ma just be. 
(alone)

P.O.S.:
Back from seeing papa drink 40 o-u-n-c-e's just to quench, 
I'll rise against all you rinse in me
you want your soundscape scraped, that's my homeboy Cece
I'll be that lung beater here to choke smoke and pent heaters 
warm the frostbite of the death cheaters
and maybe next year the check clears 
until that time, nickle and dime, 
no henny and shine, grind them gears
me and Cecil been up for years
now peeking at how to live
how funny something so simple can leave you feeling so supple 
belly full, promise of [bad word]  never bull
stay Doom through til the muscle 
and I'm been dreaming for a Cecil beat,
pasting on the canvas on the easel beat, needle point
balance them anxieties
and fret with any spool or school of thought that keeps the cloth you stitch indifferent, 
it's not the pot you [bad word] in 

Both: 
That's why I keep my nose to the stone, sharp til the hairs split
Prose of a lone cub in a bear's pit
And I can barely sit still, 
You know the deal: wake, work, repeat
I'm trying to eat
I'm trying to free up them wings, trying to bear some teeth 
And significance ain't no signature I'm trying to leave
Set a precedent for me, trying to teach it to my seed
No predicament too twisted for speech, I'ma just be. 
(alone)

Cecil: 
So now I stepped into the side saddle, riding all alone
My only weapon is my mind,
That and knowing that the road wrote a story of its own entitled
"I am yours to loan, but I ain't yours to own, no I ain't yours,"
and only open eyes would know the lines and quotes
and no I haven't always kept my eyes open, so I'm
(alone)
without a home to call my own, 
cause dreams are the only roads I roam.
And now I'm sleeping in a box car dreaming of the lost starts, preaching and car hearts
Standing at the edge of this cliff, throwing little things off like rockstars and car parts,
These scars that are marking up my face and body,
are the songs that I write about you but now I base them off me,
I'm breaking laws that we alone don't show a sign of purpose
so I'll walk these lines and these fences until my time is serviced 
These giant churches, burning witches, pretty perverts, city workers and snitches
that [bad word] s just drying on the fan, the damned
I'll keep my chin up, sit up,and stand [bad word] through the [bad word]  [bad word]  the dust, [bad word] and the [bad word] angst
I cash my check at a blood bank, 
Plus I've got some clown make-up and a traveling dunk tank.