Dum
Da da dum
Da da duuuuuum

Just outside a month
And twenty five days further from
A widower will take his life
Neither the body, nor the name will be known
A person, a being, who in the next year or so
Perhaps notorious of
Blood feuds, bank heists, and back alley exploits
Will be pure future myth
With talks of

In the soon to be abandoned old pick up truck of theirs
A gallon of gas with room to be half
Will spill out onto the cold, black
A quarter to four in the mornin'
Asphalt
Green-yellow dregs of diesel will ease their way down the vehicle

A Friday with fog will roll in from the west
A dog, a mutt perhaps
Will sniff its way past the front end of the tree trashed truck
The motor will jolt in and out of its normal sequence
In discordant chugging pitter-patter accordion metal-licks of ruckus
Like in the days to come
Death's canine will want an impression
Of his master's woodwork
With barks of

After all that I will have been through
And 'fore I will have known your name
And after all I will have done for you
You will have dug yourself a shallow grave
A shallow grave
A shallow grave
A shallow grave

His silhouette lingers
And still I have yet to let him know
A metal through his fingers
Is the only bond
That keeps us
Close

I've tried to move from it
But his mark finds wherever I go
Believing I've lost it
There in my mind
Lives his ghost

What turns your back when you sense someone's broke in?
What makes you laugh when you see it's an old friend?
Who burns your past when your future is frozen?
Who breathes their last whilst being unnoticed?

All silence is golden
All silence is golden
All silence is golden
All silence is golden

You're on the run now
Under the gun of someone's scope
The line won't catch up to you, no
It only burns a thinner rope
But I'm so proud of how
You've escaped every beaten road
No matter how this turns out
I will know
You played it cut and cold

What turns your back when you sense someone's broken?
What makes you laugh when you see it's an old friend?
Who burns your past when your future is frozen?
Who breathes their last whilst being unnoticed?

All silence is golden
All silence is golden
All silence is golden
All silence is golden

Here in silence, sight the glow
Whereby creatures of night know
Run a rosary in hand
Or else fight
The Flashlight Man

He walks by windows left unlocked
He floods his books with checks of chalk
Some call for help, some have no plan
Though none have knocked
The Flashlight Man

He waits for winter, when all is wind
When wood would be sparse and sparks burn dim
Where flint will be flakes unless inland
Still, some have witnessed
The Flashlight Man

He watches the light go out in bedrooms
What once hosted life, hosts time's ghosts in tombs
Some bottle up time, some sink in their sands
Yet, no nightmares dream of
The Flashlight Man's

He wrings out what's left of what's right and what's wrong
He brings out the best in some boasting in song
Some find him friendly, but soon find that they can't
Who's wise knows someone close
As The Flashlight Man

Asleep by dawn, cocoon by noon, deadly by dusk
In crimson cloaks he clasps his croaks and keeps the husk
One has been told, of age of old, a kid that ran
His name, I'll tell, you know so well
The Flashlight Man

Oooooo
Ooooo
Oooo

His name was Jack
He had a heart attack
He wore black on black
Like a wreck he fled fast
Local smoke croaked out as he cracked horseback
Jag önskar dig lycka till, tack

Her terms were fruitless
Features like a feathered headdress
She'd stay out late with guests
That'd forget to give a goodnight kiss
Poor apropos poised prose postponed
Kept on like she wasn't

His job was harmless
Pistol wept out its harness
Had an itch for revenge
Pretense, one of his targets
A fervor feared forced his progress
Whatsoever revolves up

She soared by sordid sonnets
Anchored artifice, Ms. Anonymous
Dove off the pale precipice
To set sale in an office
Not novice now nor never was
Could it cost a couple coffins?

His time soon forgotten
Stood on watch but later lost it
Lately he's either bothered
By foreigners or who he fathered
So solo songs soon sound so long
Let nay look lost no longer

His girl's name is April
She shows with pierced navel
Asks for some greenbacks
To catch z's on a pill
Lo, save we fail, she hits a dead end trail
And an angel ends up in jail

"And all men **** the thing they love
By all let this be heard
Some do it with a bitter look
Some with a flattering word
The coward does it with a kiss
The brave man with a sword"
With a sword

Of what and such I must not trust
Your wit, your vim and wry replies
I'll quote old jokes to folks from home
So why should I shed light on ice?
On ice
On ice

With cracks of past my grin would growl
And lips of late lay waste instead
Amiss, amok, a muse of sorts
In short, tis' end for Sir Tristan
Tristan
Tristan

Yet bows be still and peace be kept
For known unknowns toss light and lull
In time or tomb I'll write you soon
And trust you're just and jest as well
As well
As well

a medieval blacksmith, insO̲—
—much as lyrical material of mine gets cast sim. to cold
weapons; I'd say, as anything mind-distracting, like dope
["destructing"]
lyric-writing acts in the role
of temp rise, 'cause it unshadows the mind
like da[ɛ]mn skies, dissipating clouds of lack of delight
which is whY̲ I clepe
it as "mind eclipse" (lack of the light)
hence all the grimness seen in mY̲ bar sheets (chernukha)
like someone having a flight, a bored, tragedy wight
["aboard"]
lashings of spite I add in my lines
a geek practicing harassment in rhymes
as a pastime; an antihero, like Frank Castle I side
with on going against baddies with vice (lesser evil)
'cause you can't battle a knight
or a savage canine, or seize a bastion by
means of any kind of chatting (good luck managing that, gandhists)
get real; chances of collapsing
a toughened up corrupt regime by tranquil, brawl-free rallies
are as high as a bA̲nged up substance addict
can be (highly unlikely); though I keep the anti-autocratic
subject matter frontline, ones who half-a##edly indite
their lyrics are casket too, like
a box for somebody pA̲ssed like the time
of the plague (past); thA̲t's something I'm
more than glad to provide
you with; tra[ɛ]nslation: you ain't sA̲fe, chumps
[a casket isn't a safe, hence "are casket" means "aren't/ain't safe"]
like an offer to have a sled ride
"dude, let's slay some"
["sleigh"]
said the voice of the Islamist radical-like rapper in my
bean (Shady); "let's bring a da[ɛ]ng mayhem"
["bin Shady": Osama bin Laden + Slim Shady, who's a lyrical terrorist]
it added with passion, then I'm
like: "sounds like a blast of a time" (kaboom)
but no[ɑ]t to you, be—cause I'm on my violent bullsh#t (again)
like a jihadi loony; with these lines I'm suited
up with, you'll be blasted like plants bY̲ a shrE̲wd wind
or like a head of state ordained to invade
a neighboring state
in this **** field, I feel
like Max Payne with a gauge
[shotgun]
in a prey-tE̲E̲ming weald
hunting as sport; slay just to main—
—tain some relish & killing skills
you're like misbehavior-free slaves
in this field; translation: you're tame (lyrically)
["tranSLAYtion"]
therefore, you're unwished-for
like anyone & anything with a high lack of approval
[by "high lack of approval" I mean "dissent"]
on politics of the regime of some dastardly ruler (dastardly ruler)
drunk by the power he keeps a tight grA̲sp on & moola (power & moola)
just like Vlad the mean puta (who?)
code name's the lavato[—]ry shooter (lavatory shooter)
you jacklegs remind
me of simple cases or the Batman that time
when he wound up with his bA̲ck damaged by
Bane, 'cause I get you cracked with no strife
just like trash, you would wi[aɪ]nd
up in the dumps if you set your crap next to mine
and let ones being into rap scrutinize
your level of lyrical threat's to splatter a high—
—ball glass or stuff like
that, punks; me? like an armor-clA̲d man, a night—
["knight"]
—mare; Dante strapped with a scythe
[Dante from the "Devil May Cry" video game series]
the way I whack, it's so tight
that I have my device playing some phA̲t beats as I
masterly slice you hacks into stripes
like the Senyera; rap di̲letta[ɑ]nti
and political oppressors are picked as targets
and I may be read as a vigila[ɑ]nte
'cause I go after you like
V; like 2 sawbones having a fight with their scalpel-like knives
[I go after the aforementiond figures in my lyrics]
["after U [which is followed by V]"; V from "V for Vendetta"]
a pa[ɛ]radox while A̲t it 'cause I go autocratic, despite
["pair of docs"]
the views thA̲t I stick by; other words, I kick A̲## as if I
were dealing a jA̲cka## foot strikes
[I'm against unjustified maltreatment of animals, that sentence is just for wordplay]
a rebel thinker with a wrA̲pped up in rhymes
sick, hazardous mind bringing lyrical disasters & crimes
oh, there's one I'm imagining right
now; a rap-writing dabbler, besides an autocratic *****, wi[aɪ]nds
up inside a hearse
with me being A̲t the wheel like
a town that's rife in terms
of poison-pushing; a psychopA̲th when I drive
["atterville"; "****** path"]
speed up to 150 miles per
hour on a track in Alpine
heights, pound a go[ɑ]ddamn curb
barrier breaching it & sending the wagon in flight
open out the driver door
and jump out with a 'chute backpA̲ck on my spine (bye-f#cking-bye!)
watching the car go down, just like a war
criminal busted, & whereafter burst, like
brain arteries of a nazissistic scoundrel; like reports
saying an autocratic piece of trash nullifies
his presiding terms
I'm bA̲d news when I'm
on my lyric-writing horse
[the "high horse" expression]
like cavalry; I'd like a dastardly, vice-ridden autocrat to reply
["riding horse"]
with lyrics to any of the crA̲p I've devised
in opposition to authoritarianism
should I send some to the office with galore of rE̲A̲r-licking minions
of that "it's all the nasty West" guy
or that's suicide?

All my **** got repossessed
By an aardvark in a leather vest
That he swears is only vinyl
But won’t tell me where to buy my own

He says if I can go six months
With no late payments
On my credit card statements
He’ll let the name slip

I’ve got to get my **** together
Or this cruelty-free vegan sleeveless pleather
Statement piece might slip away from me

So, these days, I’m
Dedicated to paying
This debt I’ve accumulated
Despite the social detriment
Withdrawal and depressive episodes
All in the name of
Improving my credit score

Until when?
The day comes up
That I’ve paid for the stuff
That I bought without paying for
I’m practically stable
By now

The aardvark from the IRS
Reappears as my remaining debt and interest
Dwindles into a less pressing account
For the withholding public servant
Who’s about to grant me access
To the privileged information
I’ve been craving for months

It was an Etsy shop
And they’re all sold out

lyrically, I kind of feel like an assassin
at the task point & equipped with poison darts
for I'm 'bout to let fly an attack in
this b#tch with toxic bars
pointed, like v𝗜per's fangs, at an
outfit of office bo[ɑ]ds/do[ɑ]gs
kno𝗪n 𝗔s "Electro𝗡ic Ar𝗧s"
at the time it was found
a certain game of thine is shut down
like a chipmunk, I went nuts
'cause, for keeps, I'd lost 𝗠𝗬 𝗖𝗔𝗥𝗦 (lost)
on styling which, several hours were spent
thanks for all the time wasted
don't even have effing screen captures of them
awesome, amazing!
——————————————————————
when it comes to discussions like games get
human noggins go crazy
it's not them themselves are stuff to put blame on
it's, among things not mentioned, such situations
——————————————————————
now getting 𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞
to those r𝗘sponsible for that scoundrelly act
and probably not gi𝗩𝗜ng an ounce of a f#ck
𝗟ike a tire drifting down a speed track
[attire]
it's gon' get smoky & **[ɑ]t (for you)
barbecue; so go hit a dog & bone & ring up
[heat]
a local smoke eaters squa[ɑ]d
'kin to "Rebel", I scream f#ck the suits
[keen; ice cream]
like somebody chosen to o[ɑ]pt
for a punk-like look
but you can all get choked by asco[ɑ]t (lethally)
as if you were getting iced by someone who's
got Caledonian blood (a Scott)
𝗔ppetite to hunt unful–
–fi𝗟𝗟ed; you're in it to make bread like *******s
[field]
but don't be swift to get laid-back, don't chill
ak𝗜n to potatoes & sh#t
like th𝗔t, better maintain your eyes peeled
better still is beating a hasty retreat
si𝗡𝗖𝗘 in the same freaking field
[sins; freak in field]
I am; the Creeper, in it to prey like a priest
[pray]
as if you were ****** in religion (horse?)
I'm speeding your way like a whip (vroom-vroom)
in other words, you're in fO̲r some moll-treatment
told I'm in it to prey since it's writ
large that you're being a game in this b#tch
which, in turn, is the reason I'm playing a bit (with words)
to say it in brief, you're simply collation to ge[ɪ]t
let me add a medievalish taste to this sh#t
[evilish]
arranging it akin to the H & the G
[a range]
not "H" & "G" as in hunter & game, though
"H" & "G" as in Hansel & Gretel
i.e. with you getting ablaze like a witch
with this one, might be given a place in a list
of ones given to making it lit
in the middle of taking a trip, the freighter's equipped
and fit for action like babes in dance clips
the cargo's like a pro[ɑ]stitute
becau[ɑ]se it's gon' go down on you
a kind of mood to bust the roof
of the "Arts" HQ; an armored loot
box, large & toom, perha[ɑ]ps, will do
then dump on you a multitude
of fla[ɑ]sks produced from gla[ɑ]ss & full
of ga[ɑ]s, then put a mat[ɑ]ch to use
like pirate dudes, I spark the fuse
the falcon shoots, the target's doomed
dead in the water, so a po[ɑ]ssible res–po[ɑ]nd from you (pond)
is nothing short of garbage-good (dead in the water)
[lyrical waters]
these bars being by the side of you are like balloons
within a reach of clowns
in other words, you might get it twisted now
but it's time for you to find a new **** jo[ɑ]b in view
of the lines above becau[ɑ]se it looks
like I̲'ve zilch short of go[ɑ]tten you
fired, which explains why I̲ feel like a bo[ɑ]ss 'kin to
a vehicle used bY̲ whelps to get brou[ɑ]ght to school (bus)
exorcism bout
for it's like getting demons out
[letting demons out]
guess you, "EA", have already figured out
the amusement which shutdown
my pen is steamed about
it's "NFS: W"