Stalkin' Resha!

Everyone has a book.
A book of rhymes, melodies and times
spent when you yea high to a horse fly.

Time flies like a butterfly.

It flitters and floats, it hits like Ali before spitting all those quotes;
drops bombs like Nagasaki while it floats past me
wherever I may be

Time flies.

Whether you hold the pen now or look back on it later
your story is written put down like some data
The place they all see is your secret hard drive

Time writes in your eyes.

That book you won't lose from the library lobby
you can't see it can't find it can't hide it; you see
that book ain't yours, it OUR property
written and full of you to read

As long as time gives us the key.

You can't be the author but you may distribute
pick and choose here and there who gets one look
who gets two, seventeen or ninety five
from the day you're born till the day you die

You pick who learns to read those eyes

I've picked my stories I've written them well
not like you, these are my stories and only mine to tell
you might look but like Hellen Keller can yell;
is how you misread my masterpiece

Who said you knew how to read yet?