Life breath legitimized. Cosmic dust. Imbued with the trust to resist the rust. Emergency emergence through the common crust. The conception of the humble vs. the gods that crush. Many-face deity, I’m doing my thing with particular, meticulous, vehicular dreams. I've seen ‘em all fly, then I watched ‘em all plummet. Sittin’ in a sinkhole – quicksand stomach. Life’s just a stich in a sitch but the bitch left six inter-fixed with six different chicks. Change is a thing that begins in your liver while it clangs heavy chains up your frame like a shiver. When your brain’s finally touched it can barely keep up because another new truth is arranged in the flux. This is what it’s like when the mud gets deeper. The race seems tight but my cheese is on Reaper.

No sunlight down in the trenches. No gunfights over conniving wenches. Imagine, if you will, that galaxies are bricks – now stack each one to the beat and take a hit. Architect of pyramids amid the heathens that laughs while they hypothesize over reasons. Jesus. I felt the kids all lookin’ then smoked like dragon breath or my hash cookin’. Why defend a cause that don’t need defendin’ like you’re tearin’ up the space between the coffins with a vengeance? Why give opinions on the whims of minions? Bitterness resides between betrayals by my kinsmen. Deplete liver. Zero fuck giver. Touch, guerrilla radio relief spitter. Concrete splitter. Trust me it’ll blow your fuckin’ mind when you see shit realer.

One last gulp from a well well-poisoned (I’m parched as shit, brother, and it’s only been a week!). Scheme-hatchers braggin’ over hatchets that they buried when it’s obvious they carry ‘em – shit’s embarrassing. Spark a light archetype. Arsonist, Arkham-like. Carcass-type hark unto the archons on the Tarc at night. Mission statement: rippin’ your paradigm a new one ‘cause I learned to rap in Pentecostal churches using two tongues. Dude, should the son remain prodigal then who the fuck would stay the same? Comical. Zealots sell it and proselytize, jealous. Shit creek, no paddle? No problem! Propellers! Meat body melt down. True form go to war. Face met the floor by the basement door. When it rains, it pours. I’m arranging the chords before I toss a detonator – make a break for the door!

[ I’m trying to transcend thought – stand beyond wrath and the sand and the salt. Champion chance for your man? Who’d have thought?! It’s the Pantheon smash, mother fucker, that’s all. ]