Time and Space

The hand is the cadence before I speak I strike between each memory I bend myself before my speech My charisma is useless feats I bend it out I don't fret about A worthless sound I'll be around Making my life a disguise from itself I'm not Nostradamus, I barely am Faust Roofs on my ceilings, the glass to break out The storm is above me and I can't sleep now I bend it out I don't fret about A worthless sound I'll be around I'll be around