When every threat contains a promise That's opportunity knockin. [Act I] Night fits a hundred bars, zaza and 'saddo on the dash; I say I’m fine like I mean it, say it again till it sticks like ash. I don’t black out—I sharpen every bad idea till it's suddenly got a thesis. Reason used to ride shotgun, Now he sends texts but I leave his on read. I know the dosage, so I double it; Might not call that discipline, Might not call that faith, But I’m a GoPro, let’s see how the crash unfolds. I’m feeding the thing that keeps my hands shakin'. When the room gets silent, I confuse proof of life with want. Night won’t stay, but it hits like violins, Yeah, it comes in episodes. Hours will disappear and so I'll keep swearin' that it was clarity. I swear that was truth talking, Drunk words sober thoughts. I keep saying her name like it’s the source. Like I didn’t bring the gasoline. But if you got something to say, say it fast— Or homey’s abuela will chancleta yo' ass. Night fits. [Act II] Night fits. A hundred bars. Reposado. Corona. I say I’m fine until it sounds actual. I don’t black out. I get precisely accurate. But bad ideas learn to argue, that's exactly factual. Reason rode with me once, Now is gone. No call. No text. I know the maximum dose So I take more. Call it lack of control but I’m not after love, I gotta feed what keeps me restless when the room goes still. Darkness doesn’t last, But it's gonna strike. Hours struck got blacked out and I call that truth. I say her name like it's my faith. Like that explains it. Like I didn’t bring the match. Morning shows up impartial. Receits on the counter. I tell the same lie with better posture: I’m past this. Night fits. [Act III] My love is as a fever, longing still For that which longer nurseth the disease; Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, The uncertain sickly appetite to please. My reason, the physician to my love, Angry that his prescriptions are not kept, Hath left me, and I desperate now approve Desire 'is death, which physic did except. Past cure I am, now reason is past care, And frantic-mad with evermore unrest; My thoughts and my discourse as madmen's are, At random from the truth vainly express'd; For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, Who art as black as hell, as dark as night fits.
