You fed us to the lions
And you fought back so many tears
We were “heroes” and now we are “martyrs”
On a path to either healing or death

Why do we choose to glorify the craftsman as if they’re better than you?
Why can’t we just appreciate what we enjoy without the clout and namedropping game?

Can you still have a fear of heights from the top of a pedestal?
Or are you scared of the hands that put you there?
The disenfranchised kneel every time we go virtual
When do we cross the line between advocacy and taking advantage of what we are good at?
Charming, witty, friendly, down to earth

And when the crown hits the ground you’ll reach out and grab it and place it on the head of another

I can’t hear you
Must be the anxiety blues