Wrong Idea

Walking down the road, sometimes they get the wrong idea
They see confidence in my stride
So they’re fast to glue their eyes
Some honk, and some follow all the way down to Hollow Ave

But with a quick hand motion, they know that I am not open for business
Instead, I keep my legs crossed and hair tame
My voice quiet, even when going insane
So no one gets the wrong idea

Because the wrong idea had me run away at 8 years old
The wrong idea had my mother turning cold
The wrong idea turned my brother to the blues
The wrong idea? I might end up on the news

So I tailor my image to make sure if I turn victim
No one will have a good excuse
I store the energy carefully, so that it’s put to proper use
And I wait, I study, and I ponder, until I capture, a damn near perfect muse