I’ve done the math, like, a thousand times 
And it told me I can’t find it in any of my rhymes 
But it’s still pushes me to let the words go
Some kind of childbirth I’ll never know 
As we go into the throws of labour
Could you do me a favor 
And stop throwing empty words
Against the wall of already been heard
And it’s a tired tale
Told by those who are up for sale 
But I’m not one to barter a trade
Throwing light in the shade 
That protects your skin
Do you think I should let him in?