There's a fork in the road,
I don't slow
They ask, "Where do we go?"
Yet we say we never chose, oh no.
There's a fork in the road,
I don't slow

Been devoted to the process
The ocean my moshpit
Though often a too honest lack of expression
My effervescent resting face expressing my drifted plane
A Tarmac in the red with cardiac arrest, I'm
Burning up the starter jet, what targets text?
I barter best with autopilot motives
Moment by moment it's never hold to a quotient
Until I switch flows again, searching for cohesiveness
But this fragmented thesis is coming at you
like a meteoric matchstick, but I need this.
I need this.
Will you piece it together?

There's a fork in the road,
I don't slow
They ask, "Where do we go?"
Yet we say we never chose, oh no
There's a fork in the road,
I don't slow

Been stripping myself apart
Every thread that connects to back where I started
Take the margin of error I could've turned out with a cold heart
Had a cold start, slow to harvest the sprouts
Spent too long at Ox Mountain, never giving up now

No need for inspiration
I built a rhythmm through the hours dedicated
I'm a little fucking aimless (though that's just my high brain)
I promise if I make it then both my cities fucking make it.
No matter what I make, shit, my friends as family raise it.