Sometimes, I feel like we at MIT; you and me set to disagree, chorus of supporters up under your feet, backed by awards and more prestigious degrees. "The Fields Medal!" they shout and they scream, thirsty little birds chirpin' worms in they beak. Balloon circus whistles burst when they speak perfect circles from pedestal perches that squeal how success coulda been real if only I'd done more than counsel vets in the field. In a world of those who endlessly need, there ain't no vested register for my type of expertise. No measure of wealth, no measure of self; but if every moment I gave was dragged out the shadows and lashed upon these gallows in plain day, I'd still be honored by my weight & tally of space. Doubt what I say, but see what I do. See what I mean; this ain't about you. This is my life right now, not just a verse. Stand by my lines, action for every word. This is my light house now, made my own course, fought waves past the breaks and the moors, braved the depths, legs kickin', wit my face to the floor. I've taken the bait, I'm racin' the storm. Won't say what I traded to make it across; I ain't savin' nothin' for the swim back to shore. Put chips on other dogs if you want. It's your choice, pick a lot, take your loss. But the race ain't over brother; I see you bettin' on the wrong horse. A buck 60 to 200 somethin' shows? I'm still dead center- front fuckin' row; and you know that I love every second except when 10 minutes into your set, road fam's fast ...