My pen is dipped in the blood of the Lamb,
just like these tattooed hands,
marked with the name of my clan.

Every now and then
in a sacred garden
he spits rhymes often
in a soundproof coffin ….
…cause its only God and I when I'm talking...…

Between the tick and the tock he meditated nonstop till he watched the clock completely stop and the matrix fell apart...

Heavy is the Crown but he walks around with enough know how to soar above the clouds, wow, how you like me now.

Then with metal, magic, poems and an amulet in the shape of a skull and cross bones, I can turn the unbeliever into stone,
Welcome to the Terror Dome.

I abuse my muse,
Chewed, *******, battered and bruised,
Her expression confused, no clue how, she spews hot milky goo-cream stew from the tactics I use.

Lips slightly apart,
senses become sharp,
my eyes go dark
before I kiss you
with  all the energy in my heart.
The equation of a sum
or as hot as the surface of the sun
when our souls become one.