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With a sick muse, tell me what am I supposed to do?
Music only does so much to quell ghosts and conduct the pain through
The sky made it rain on the moon
Man, the XLR connect to mic and hand and give me reach like wrist and bones do
Inside my electrical mood, circuits blew, I’m certainly blue
The weight of the world hits and sticks like glue
The weight of the world hits and sticks like glue
The weight of the world hits and sticks like glue
Royal Blazers, little middle school skate crew
I was born six Junes after ‘92
As a tike, Nikes, Nick at Nite and rock fights, all the hypes of height had us fooled
As a child, I would bask at the sky in its vastness and feel smaller than ever
Now I meditate with letters, ink like Incan treasure
Takin turns on Nintendo, “man you take forever!”
Freight trains of pleasure preceded age
When does getting older to get better?
What’s your fall back, your word worth, your gold standard?
Oops, it got spooky, we snuck on Daytop, it was abandoned
I’ll be damned if you disagree, we’re no longer in Kansas
Take pain out of paint to place on canvas
To a t, why all my takeaways taken for granted?
Brain stains, I grew out of old Polos
I wear my heart on my sleeve like a patch, pathos on logos
Pass fingers on old photos
Notes in the show yo-yo from baritone to oboe
Can you read a room and sense the doom that consumes it?
Sometimes I find the 9-5 strive-or-die vibe makes me wanna lose it
Sic transit gloria mundi
My free flow is captivating, outside the grey and barred window is glorious music
It’s glorious music
Some use tricks to make time
Sometimes the blues stick
You know I do this
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Don’t let history get you etched out
Supreme height ladder let-down
The universe can lift your head from the ground or make you place your head down
7 up, eyes closed, ears attuned to the water sound
Drip or drown, I write from where unfound life surround
Side step the hell out the crowd
Distinguished, ineffable
Too cool to burn out
The most liberating truth is that we all bound for the clouds
But some break ankles seeking alternate routes
It’s bad virtues that crews affix to
Might get a point across when I get in my groove
The hands as communication tools
What makes the mountains move is when the mouth is true
At higher altitudes I edit out with the moon
At midnight write high noon
Till the tomb you could fight with nail and tooth
Can’t throw me off the roof, the bulletproof glue I drew was the proof
Spill an ink pool, I got an inkling you already knew
I bleed red, kick shit, and step over the blues
Sunni’s, RIP to Dumile, Earth’s doom is overdue
Monsoon vibes due to ensue
The major Arjuna warrior stance
Take one good look at the virtues and follow the plan
Fire in the pan, it’s my calling to make every line land
Before I can no longer stand, I manage to give myself the greatest demands
I’m grounded, plugged in the power plant
Sketch a Rembrandt
Even on slow jams, they gon ring for a lifespan
You gon in the sound like quick sand
Peep the romantic ghost dance, I feel tied intensely to the trance
I exist to expand, I don’t operate on the off chance
I know honor like the back of my hand
Watch what I do now, my sound came from the ground
You can’t etch me out
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