Truly, it’s sad.
The ghetto was rough,
Life brushed him too bad.
In him was a prophet,
not bound to the pulpit
But speaking the future still.
In his words was healing,
despite his flaws
He always preached reality.
If his was a perfect upbringing,
maybe he’d turned out like others
But we don’t plan destiny,
Fate is evil at times.
Prematurely became fatherless
Then left the earth childless.
In your days you wept,
Yet we found entertainment in your tears.
You turned your sorrow into lyrics,
Music that healed the broken.
Who consoled you behind closed doors?
We should have known better,
We lacked the thirst to know more.
Alas, we judged the mask you wore
Now as you sleep to never wake,
We understand your words at work…
Fare thee well ghetto prophet