[spoken]
“I dedicate this one… to the ego.”

I used to think it was nice to be “special”
Before that—must’ve just wanted to “feel seen”
Bein’ born to exist just feels like
(Comin’ alive) to a part of somethin’
Lord knows I never wanted
Never wanted to be queen

Elite are “the famous”
For how they’ll come to rule history
How they will is still a mystery
During End Times…

Elite are “the rich”
For how they can buy their way to labor
How they will is still a symphony
Of our decline…

I write love letters to myself (why oh why?)
I write love letters to myself (I can explain)
To see who I am under makeup
To cull what I already am
I write love letters to myself
I steal pepper-peeks at my deity
To see what my marrow is made of
To see what the self can be
Love, as it unfolds, tunes us into harmony
As a melody that didn’t have to (didn’t have to exist)
Bein’ born to unite just feels like (comin’ alive, alive)
To honor a Holiness
(To be humbled by man’s humility)
Lord knows I never wanted
Self and non-self to collide

The non-self vibes ”danger”!
For how She can’t be controlled
How She could is still a mystery
Post the black widow…

The self vibes a manger
For how I can’t be unrolled!
How I could is still a possibility
Men should unfold…

I write love letters to myself (why oh why?)
I write love letters to myself (I can explain)
To see who I am under makeup
To cull what I already am
I write love letters to myself
I steal pepper-peeks at my deity
To see what my marrow is made of
To see what the self can be
Woman is God
I am a man
The self is a cancer
I must not be snob

[Dance break.]

Men must be cancerous ego-formations
Growin’ up—I was taught bein’ cancer was everything
Bein’ born to gravitate more and more
(Come alive, alive) non-selves into me
Lord knows I never wanted
Never wanted to be king

Privileged are “the powerful”
For how they’ll come to rule history
How they will is still a mystery
During End Times…

Privileged are “the rich”
For how they can share their way to slavery
How they will is still a symphony
Of man’s decline…

I write love letters to myself (why oh why?)
I write love letters to myself (I can explain)
To see who I am under makeup
To cull what I already am
I write love letters to myself
I steal pepper-peeks at my deity
To see what my marrow is made of
To see what a man can be…