When the sun took a day off and the moon stood still
the clouds between them sought each other out for the deal, for real ya feel,
And when that scattered cache of semiotic deepness caught the speal,
it descended in it's gutter thoughts to slander sandy meal.
For if the sun had crashed and burned beyond Ra's power of affect,
it's Das EFX who've got to worry 'bowt that water at their neck;
For when dependent on the flowing of a deeper sense of being
we-in seeing fleeting selves diminish sprecht to dense ennui-ing.
Now the sun, my little homie, fudged right up the garden path,
and left that voyeuristic moon to mock eroded sand, and crass
his laugh a glutton's guttural injection, direct unto the scene.
It sounded callous, sounded violent, sounded object-able-y mean,
but yet the philanderers of flour, and the sorcerers of sauce,
course quite dour in this hour of recourse without remorse
rhetorting 'power captures power, and ostentious is the source'
the sun had forced my force to cower, not devour but endorse.
And so I showered in the grave held views of people passing by
as each took turn to point the lack of sun to my permissing eye,
dismissing why my thought might not rely on their own petty voice.
Rejoice I did when Moon knocked twice on mic, and made that awesome choice:
(he said)
"In stead I sit, ponder, perceive, provok-atate
'preventive' measures that you floundering and feeble fools debate;
I see expletive ridden arguments in punch ups cross the land
and yet the verbal aspect of your balk, is missing today's stand;
So all you shedy modes of being that eek discretely underneath
you better sort your petty shed out, before you compound with this wreath,
and let me warn you with this warning, yo I spoke to him (the Sun),
and he claims to think you slimey fudgers need a day to come undone.
gasps Come undone? gasps Undone? gasps you know that can't be fun!
And yet that Sun would shun his lesser selves to grasp at morbid stun,
and stun us all, beyond an instant, or an instance, with persistence.
No embellishment is needed, for we needed Sun to seeded
up this planet, without ballot, from the other heaven voices;
Now our choice's left our solar system's mother no rejoices,
and so the male figured mother (our gender knows eternal truth)
has chosen to reside with nether thoughts, and nihilistic proof,
He's like a ****** little teenager, reading up on Nietzche
who beseech ya for some aphoristic pleasure, please! Discreet ya
be when dealing with this kind of mess, solipsism can spread
and dread the narcissistic modes of thinking it can sole entread.
So don't equate power to will, and set to truthful being.
Or I'll hawk you out as wasted breath, some 02 needing freeing,
staining up the wall, that phishing contest,'ll never hold your thought
to any standard, 'cause my standard flies inside your whiny fort.
Banded meaning will not help you, claiming relativity too,
just makes you seem to be someone who seeks to level off the crew,
perhaps it aids you in allowing yourself certainty of fact
because if universal truth is true, your opinions deffo whack."
Then the mic was dropped, so by the moon, plummeting towards the earth
and the winds picked up the fast track run of rappers of every single birth.
Without rehearse they ran to grab the mic, and unified their form
but alas the mic was Toronto wide, and burning like the Sun.
Inspired by 'Freestyle Fellowship's: When the Sun took a day off and the Moon stood still'.
