Jermaine finally scribbled a line. Born in a box, thinking outside of it is treason. He thought about the brothers downstairs, trapped in the cycle of the hustle, wings clipped by the weight of a zip code. They had the songs of giants in their throats, but the world only heard the rattle of the locks.
Omen nodded, looking toward the horizon where the orange glow was being swallowed by the grey of the towers. "A bird born in a cage thinks flying is a sickness. We’ve been sick for a long time, Jermaine." J. Cole - Caged Bird (feat. Omen)
A shadow fell over the page. Omen stepped out through the window, his movements quiet, almost ghost-like. He leaned against the brick, eyes tracing the flight of a pigeon that had managed to find a gap between the power lines. Jermaine finally scribbled a line
you're aiming for (e.g., more gritty, more hopeful, or more abstract) They had the songs of giants in their