i’ll tell ya
these penciled
and paper mated faces fein to steel a vacation, motor rolls soapstone loaded up on inspiration,
in fiery lakes where jaded shapes waded to wizard away,
negative space eradicated by patient plasma waves,
here i stay„
weighted„
chained„
in this regular pace,
can’t wait to waste electrodes,
fumes,
a smile on my face,
polish the gray
till it shines like domes over politics’ stage,
(yo) I could holler all day,
but word to the pavement, it aint giving,
no way,
walloped
with souls toes up, woes encrypting their fate,
Coney to Queensland Gold Coast folks insisting the same,
“aint no lame slain lamb died so i could be saved!”,
but thats the faith of every light that shines
and Christian that prays,
„„„„„„„„„„„„„„„„„„„„„„”a Wait Wait
hold up mike ya bound to get craze,
you go from abstarct art to professing your faith,
investigate,
‘word!’,
play it safe,
and is this rap or poetry?”,
I’ll tell you something it aint,
that’s fake,
something i fear,
i face,
look in the mirror for change and ya whole next year is the same, too late.
