Is there a set day to your ever
A lost and now stole to your ember
An eaten, from which you may not survive
Yet this undeath shall not divide you... two...
Into as many wolf mouths as you might feed
Or hit record oblivion
A deep dark themselves
From which you and jeff would never be friends again
And I am awfully fully aware of this
Hell is only a furthest extension of all fairness
Sysiphus got rock I'll get mine... in due time
And every day I'm...
And every day authors die from falling...
You see what I'm saying
When authors die from falling...
This is a slave world, of fine bedding and big funerals
Stuffed with the husks of sons, followed by roman numerals
And the ancient dragon of privilege...
Yeah but does it guard them or eat them
Tell me which is it...
They are the thing of whips
What was once crown has become
And they come in every color and from
Everywhere greed grew strong in ape
And in such sad math the future was ate
Until not a single thinking thing on a tectonic plate has
been safe since power or the ordinary cunt coming of kings
My people have been only on strings
And somehow my great grand dad guilded hats
So that I could build stronger straw homes from ____(blank) rap
Better men and women from selves
And clear mind diamond mines of their personal hells...
Cause nothing quells the
E-m-p-t-y once it class pictures your ass
Sat in the still chariot of class
reins and all time
Things will grind so I song mine
Out and it does deal with the death in the venom
But doesn't cure me of the darks when I'm in em...
Do you get down
To the sound of guns decomposing
The blood in your songs gone mud in a landfill...
We don't play on graves cause there isn't room
Besides it's uneven often that slants and fools come
Its True somehow
When your prime is what your ending wields
When your environment, it eats you...
Vernor is it true
What you jungle said...
Do the Birds just yell in all their hell
While insects shout out death with all their legs.
If so I hope I throw it fang up at the
darkness till it shuts on my guts and, small fame
To know we all Last sleep the same
And that it in fact does all go black...
When the day stops calling your name
Giving you back
To the absence of your laugh in this world
And all things sick that your shell did pearl...
In defense and a middle class lack of suspense
To the pit or picket fence fate your life careers off into
Do you see what I'm meaning
Your sons numb, your daughters demons
Run deeper than their affections...
I'm a good gangster of my dis-beliefs
Unwooden goodened gangster of his disbeliefs
Overtooken goodened gangster of his dis beliefs