In my own plantation, in my own lure of desires, I allowed my prison of poison to become obsessive of men who I barely vision in reality
Injected in my own brainwashed brain into my veins, I get delusional blurred by what society says is perfectionism, their rules, their standard of living
My eyes be looking to be a servant of men, their one and only before I get an invitation to labels by God
God should be the only one to claim me his prized possession, his treasure in the stars, but the strings of the devil speaks in my ear to be on the stairwell of "Servants of men" be where they stand.

