Ayo I caught the bpm
But I aint check the key
I left the autotune off
So it could just be you and me
I got some issues
Some call this depression
Some call this a privilege
Others call this a lesson
Some would
Call this shit stupid
I would call this my life
Yo I aint end it
I just wrote through on the night
Even though my visions private
Let me tell you bout my sight
I was fifty stories up
In Manhattan
Colored white
Maybe it was January
No maybe March, no
Maybe December when
Depression hits me hard
I was at this rooftop
Where Sinatra used to post
On the right side balcony
Just me and twenty ghosts
Looking down I smile
At what most would call the street
I saw this as a home that
Bill collectors couldn't reach
I saw it as some freedom
Maybe some type of retreat
A place where my fam
Can use my royalties in peace
This railing so low
This building so slim
I'm leaning over
Feeling, one with the wind
The bartender through the window saw my face I think she knew
Then I started sympathizing for how this shit might hit her too
To watch me jump

I think
We all wonder
Who would care when we leave
Who would stare there in peace
Who would crash into God
Who would steer their release
Shed some tears as they speak
Reminisce on some moments
Depart fear with they speech
When your love moving on
Will your album still drop
Will your fam collect the money
Will your fan base stop
Will your name live on
Or will they drag it through the mud
Will they say I would be a legend
Or cap me at what I was
Yeah
All of that and it still aint worth it
Got so much gratitude
It still aint working
Think I'm this low
Cause I live so high
How can you feel this good
And almost not be alive
Damn
But make it through for the little things
I say to all of you
I hope I'm never a hypocrite
Yeah
Let's make it through this
Swear it only gets better
Straight from my soul
I hope you felt every letter
Fuck it