They say confidence is what makes a man, but where does it come from? Is it a gift from God? Grace that only certain men can taste? Where's my present? How come I lack a presence? Tooless soldier, pacing the battle ground. Understand I say pacing, idle, in awe from my idols. Scared to move. Forrest wasn't cut out for this, yeah he can talk real rash, but when it comes time to clash, when others around me want to bash, he runs... It's like, sack after sack, shot after shot, but on an empty court because when those lights shine bright he caves in. He can't take it, he don't believe like when those Christmas reeves just don't seem as real. I don't want to grow old, with a half-filled flask sitting there yelling "why was I always last? I could never be first to God's taught class 'How to Be a Man" Illicit boy speak! Well my jaws are so tight, and my chains so linked...I can't even think...Where's the respect for those, who misguidedly have too much respect to stand?