You could say.
You could say they’re more cultured. They’ve stood their ground,
They’ve been lost. They’ve been found.
My shoes are part of my soul,
they remember what my memory stole. The dirt. The wet. The dry.
See life through their eyes.
They may not have a heartbeat
but when they’re on your feet, they’ll carry and they’ll guide, they’ll run with you and never hide.
The laces are done up too tight,
can take five minutes to undo at night. The double act, the perfect pair they’ve got life long wear and tear.
They hold your happiness and your tears, like a photo that you haven’t seen for years. Give them love and they will last,
like us really, you gotta give them a chance.
I’m a size three,
Yeah, I know… that’s tiny. But little things and all that, I’ll get kids shoes, no tax.
I’ll try tell them something they don’t know, difficult, because they’ve seen me grow. Their blinding white wears off,
like my teeth through the shit I scoff.
They dance, they run, they stop and they start.
My mind’s not too clever, but my feet. My feet are smart. They all have a purpose and an input in my day,
like the weather is shit, better not wear velvet, hey!
My soles are my outfit. My personality, They see things that I fail to see.
Every step is a kick in their face.
But that’s alright, as long as I win my race.