All I have are my Words on Paper

Some fight, some play sports, some use drugs, some cry and some move on...
Some have an instrument to play for the world...
Some sing and rap too...
Some kill and chase their enemies to the death...
What’s a poor soul to do until his last breath,
I’ll write it all down in a story,
I’m sure it’ll fulfill someone’s glory...
All I’ve every really had were my words on paper.
A lot of people fall in love, I’ve written that story too,
Some fail, some try again, and stick to one person like glue...
Some people find faults in their search for perfection,
In that search they often end up with a fault collection...
Many of us are in places where we don’t belong,
and many of us will do anything to get where we want to be.
No shame, no glory, just me with my pen and pad writing with glee...
All I’ve ever really had were my words on paper.
When my time here is over and the boss calls me home,
The last sentence I’ll probably write, I promise won’t be long.
It’ll be brief, with a map to a buried treasure deep underneath a tree;
With a mountain of books to set the world free.
In it you’ll also find bird feathers and some ink with instructions telling you what to do;
It’ll be a design to stitch wings custom made by a draper,
So you can learn to fly and spray paint one of my poems on the top of a sky scraper;
Oh no, that sky scraper never belonged to me, I’m as helpless as a grain of salt with no shaker,
I told you, all I’ve ever really had were my words on paper.