Dreams of a Distant Journey

His name is Sage And I had a lone Sage who sees through You're not alone Yeah Troublesome, troubled son on the run These days you never know My father told me get a gun Troublesome, troubled son on the run These days you never know My father told me get a gun Way too many European clothes and not enough funds I been on my own, if Poppa was around, it ain't no question who would own the home Trust, I had to grow quicker than most Sound definite, definitely heaven sent Horns blazing, only some forget the sunken ships I often reminisce, what spirit guide us calm regret? Look myself in the mirror, start tearing up as I reflect I rearrange my meaning December days, I recollect, I reconnect through dreaming A distant daze, my journey long, I fix my face to see it Ronaldinho how I curve the ball, I'm Ziyech from a distance Roberto Carlos 'round the problems, Henry with the finish Winning strong, my Orixás, they often calling wishes Witches, been scarred by the wicked one, the whispers Heart burning, see the embers My spirit been the saddest, most the time I can't remember Karma from my last life, it ain't a time I can't remember To live with reason Treasonous upon meeting Found truth, here it is in my palm, breathing I'm living proof I got fam in Santiago, I got fam in Tennessee Child of Ogun, his spirit walk amongst the trees Poppa dearest came from Nashville, it's Choctaw in me It's Choctaw in me Yeah I got fam in Santiago, I got fam in Tennessee Child of Ogun, his spirit walk amongst the trees Poppa dearest came from Nashville, it's Choctaw in me It's Choctaw in me Troublesome Troubled son on the run So when you praise something Alright? It lives When the spirits praise us, we live But their praise is our life Their praise is our heartbeat Their praise is the grass growing At least I get to live And everything when it die You have to grieve the hell out of it Cause if you don't grieve it, then it never was really alive It didn't live, it's already dead And that's what terrifies the hell out of us If you have two centuries of people that haven't grieved the things that they loved And they left, properly Where does that grief go?