The baked boy that turned to a man at birth
The iron fist under God's protection
The balaclava to captain you sail past your brim of fears
I am a cocktail of a half cast
Punched half Ankole half Kiga
The wingless flyer of written wizardry
A fireless dragon with spits of love
An angry dream laughing at the past
Cabled brain with rain of thoughts.
I rose from s womb of typography
I am the telepathic soul of wisdom
That descended on crust as a glimmer
Am both you and I in a tender equation in ness
Am a broom to sweep your past tangible
The driver to enjamble your hopes.
The history yet to make your historyc
And spice your drab times in moments
Be all ears, one to make break what is of use to the moulded crashed in a jiffy.
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 5:01 AM UTC
The baked boy that turned to a man at birth
The iron fist under God's protection
The balaclava to captain you sail past your brim of fears
I am a cocktail of a half cast
Punched half Ankole half Kiga
The wingless flyer of written wizardry
A fireless dragon with spits of love
An angry dream laughing at the past
Cabled brain with rain of thoughts.
I rose from s womb of typography
I am the telepathic soul of wisdom
That descended on crust as a glimmer
Am both you and I in a tender equation in ness
Am a broom to sweep your past tangible
The driver to enjamble your hopes.
The history yet to make your historyc
And spice your drab times in moments
Be all ears, one to make break what is of use to the moulded crashed in a jiffy.
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