I ask you,


Who’s gonna be a prophet when we bought them all out?

God I saw your prophet at that festival
I think they bought him up a house on the Western Coast

Who Want It

I see men speaking of love and they’re speaking of god
But when those profits are to low they’re on that radio dial

Who Want It
You Get It

There’s static in their melodies, some are moving backwards,
You ain’t making breakups songs? You ain’t moving to Calabasas

What you thought you were making change?
Music about the money in the long run never pays

Who’s gonna be the ‘man’ when the money runs out,
Who’s gonna be a prophet when we bought them all out,
You’re gonna buy those Jordans with that Nike swoosh?

I may never be a prophet but at least I ain’t you

Who Want It

I ask you,

Who’s gonna be a prophet man we bought them all out


We Want It

Listen to me people
I'll take you on a journey
To places far away
Hold on tight and listen
From my mind
To yours today

Places of adventure
With people intertwined
With stories
And great places
That come from in my mind

some say  I am a prophet
I'm a storyteller too
Open up your mind to me
That's all you have to do
I will take you from the present
To the past and farther on
I am the storyteller
Close your eyes, and please hold on

Characters of fiction
Places that are real
Melt them both together
Tell me how you feel

Mixing words and music
In a portrait in your mind
Listen to the colours
As the words and music bind

some say I am a prophet
I'm a storyteller too
Open up your mind to me
That's all you have to do
I will take you from the present
To the past and farther on
I am the storyteller
Close your eyes, and please hold on

Dance to what you're hearing
Relax and float away
Listen to the story
Your're here, so now let's play

Combine the words and pictures
With the music and you'll see
The storyteller's story
And The Story Teller's me

some say  I am a prophet
I'm a storyteller too
Open up your mind to me
That's all you have to do
I will take you from the present
To the past and farther on
I am the storyteller
Close your eyes, and please hold on

In concrete jungle I laying was-
A frozen body, nearly corpse.
For yet for me unknown cause,
Though I have heard so many warps.

I pant for air , I really tried,
When gloomy silhouette arrived
For so long waited clement strike.
My mind and flesh got dead alike.

She teared my skull and knocked on it,
The sound was dull and empty.
And brains appeared just in a fit,-
She said - "You will have plenty"

My vision almost lost and muddy
She fixed with her own eyes -
I sow even the smallest body,
And how a star with suffer dies.

Then strangled I of poison
Filled in my butchered throat.
With it my heart been moisten
Oh Gods , how did she gloat!

She cut our veins and mixed blood.
Thought mine looked as the ***** mud,
But her was like a lava flood,
And them something in me did scud.

With sense extinct and face composed
She touched my lips with last goodbye.
Her term of life was nearly closed
And then the silhouette did die.

For many years after that day
With truth I poisoned minds of people,
With burning heart I light the way
I shouted thoughts from highest steeple.

But no one's life forever draws-
Mine also never was exception
I gathered myself up, because
I have to pay my last redemption

So in concrete jungle I walking was,
When sow right body, nearly corpse...

In the streets of Mecca
and Medina I pray I get lost.
Searching my way whole
day in heat I will exhaust.

Who knows after being
much tossed and shoved.
I may find the stepped paths
of my Mustafa beloved.

I'll garland and decorate those
paths with flowers nice;
As those will be paths of
success leading to paradise.__

A long day of shadows--
Never glisten the meadows---
We have chosen the wrong--
Day by day,
We have almost forgotten
that divine song,
Losing the spiritual light of the god---
Moving ourselves in a darkness broad----

I see the sky has grown red crucified--
The spiritual light is being satisfied---
The Satan is being terrified--  
Mother Mary becomes merriment---
That her holy son again removes the darken---
We are wondering again to be unified-
The earth is growing with magnified---

Flowers aroma blowing amour of love
The children singing the reception's song,
Merry Christmas!
Merry Christmas!!

Angels play divine melody--
Truths coming too merrily--
We are waiting for the light of the prophet (Jesus)
in the darkness of the horizon---

My messiah.
My martyr.
Are you the Anti-Christ?

You were my moon,
my stars,
and a prophet in my eyes.

You carved your promises into my ribs,
used my blood to write down dreams
of you and me.

Then you walked out that door.
I have not seen you since.

Are you a blessing?
Will you come back?

I'm starting to lose faith.

Poets dig up thoughts  .  .  .
From much higher than themselves,        
  .  .  .  Yanking subconscious.

I came here
As I write these lines
Not as a poet, preacher, prophet
But at random, an explorer
Of language, this first
Invention, I find it very fine

Finer than many of our
New things, I embrace
The lineage of poet-saints
And eat the mystic rhetoric
For breakfast, all to have a

Feast of the mind, a daybreak
Of the soul, that is not
Contrived by economic murmur
The first light, the dispersion
Of the birds makes me feel free

Like the music behind verse
I came here
As I write these lines
As a simple fool & observer
Careful to maintain my silence

In this world of propaganda
Careful to maintain my purity
In these times of great corruption.