It feels like I'm repeating the pattern Ambition vaster then Saturn My heart refuses to be cold like Vattern People always have their back turned It's nothing new to me The improvements have been few to me Don't try and start a feud with me I get why they took a knee Because hate is on a killing spree It's been awhile since I drank a pouch of Capri I'm not trying to be a fusee Only when it is done the correct way I could write this all day But not feel like I'm exigent It just continues and effects like vesicant I hope that there's a mouthwash that reduces this bad taste Because I hope these aren't a waste I aspire to not be copy and paste I still got a ton of haste I'm opened up, spaced I hope this doesn't debase My prior work before this I'm just reiterating how I feel Turning it into a spiel Living in poetry is ideal So I hope these words congeal And hold the same appeal To the newer readers You're not the bottomfeeders You are the possible leaders To this stormy and confused campaign Help end the blain That's caused me mental pain I just want to be your Thomas Paine But I can't unless you show me your light So we can sleep better every night To end stress, people get high as a kite I know that isn't right We can't ignore the problem We have to create a way to stop them And that's been the desperate attempt I've had That's why I get so glad When I achieve it You are not something I ever want to aggrieve.
Some days you have the ability, others on a shopping spree. Dressing clean, ultra supreme.
To live is just a dream that only you can see with binoculars. I live in our own aura, the World and I. Where we can kickback, sleek the ruffles out of our curtains. With blood sleeking down the glass window pane, the beginning of a crystal clear scheme with crimson stains. A passing by expert, I have yet to earn what removed hastes to which I should come to a slower pace. Push you into my fool, a clown to a stalemate. Copping everything on a shopping spree, my feet don’t touch the ground, they elevate.
Now I’m trying to jam using these hands, but one grips at fear. I don’t have time for tainted misused feelings.
I have to make them squeal for me. Hide in the bushes, they want to be seen with me. Using correct of muscle, I hold me. Carrying all these packages, I’m the one you want.
The sky is so polluted but it's beautiful, isn't it though? Feel bad, so to relax, sit outside 7-Eleven with a smoke. With the way I hold my head you can't even tell I'm poor. Or maybe you can, because "What's that?" You ask. It's the loose change in my pockets overfilled to the spilling You hear me walking, it's no-cash, it's no-wash, the half blood broke ***. All the bad habits, no natural habitat. Clothes from the Village feel almost as fine on your flesh as the high class new tags from the corner off 5th/Saks What makes you happy? What makes you happy? With just a little more coming in you could finance your fantasy, or get more freak and nasty. Green is the color on top of the clouds that catches you falling before the ground. Shuck corn, remorseless, you can get it paid. Mesmerize at the numbers rising higher and higher, coerced too easily to enjoy your stay. What makes you happy? What makes you happy? The view from the penthouse on top of the city. Pity. There's no love in the home you built. There's no cause no effect no affection waking you up to touch the world with the passion igniting your eyes and pulsing out your fingertips. One step from homelessness without one hope, but faith is a better replacement in the end and I've got faith in code.
Rage filled nights, Blood filled fights. Red visions blurred, Directions without a word. Satan fills your thoughts, Religion is forgotten, Bible pages gone rotten. Green blood through your veins, ****** fills your brain. Run and ****, Stab for the thrill. Wicked smiles placed, Angelic qualities erased. My hunger is traced with the craving, That when satisfied sends me raving.
Matador, **** the beast that run amok inside your psyche; the urge to throw in the towel then becomes natural.
Amigo, you are the problem, the bull is your creation you realize that too, but pretend it's just to amuse the audience, blood according to you, tickles! you are the harbinger of good times..hear the crowds roar.. they too, act as if they buy your story because you have the sword, and the power to **** but if you turn weak, slowly fall, they'll hail all bulls fell prey to your merciless sword