Spew fire. Pull the rip cord. I rip chords to pieces.
Emcees can’t afford to eat this smorgasbord I’m speaking.

Uniforms and leaches suck the life through pores and orifices.
From their offices to the porches where the morgue gets more and more kids.

I’m born again. I've shed the layers from my infant eyes.
They minimize the size of pills and digest the fist inside.

And rid my life of critical little needs and wants and breed in swamps.
And all I see are trees screaming murder as the greedy hogs,

Laugh and smack their bacon backs. This steak is black, take it back.
I asked to razor the slab off myself and satiate my wrath.

This cave is made of paper backs and hours spent in vacant paths.
This avenue is skewed by ashes made by wavy, blades of grass.

This happy son is raging mad and taking on the gods and titans.
Jaws of lifeless dogs fall in piles on the dawn of violence.

I claw my way to mountain tops. Olympus in my mortal sights,
A portal of light amidst the horrid, normal, boring life.

This is derivative of the mimics of the mystical kids.
Sequenced in a dream I missed. Sequined with the crystal chips.

When fingers snap and smoke emits we focus where our focus is.
Focus in on this world. We cope with all this social shit.

The gold's not important. We can't take it with us.
But you can take some pictures and explore the nature within us.

I walk on shoes with no soles
and the rugged, jagged rocks tear through to the bloody bone.

This muddy road is flowing downhill. I slip and fall
Into abysmal little crevices and spill into it all.

Paint me with acrylic mimic my image on canvases.
A band of sick natives lay this sacrifice in bandages.

Gather around and hear the chatter of townspeople.
Traveling around this round ball I've found peaceful sounds.

Surrounded by a see through wall that lacks purpose.
Poorly supported floors fall into the black furnace.

I hear the cackle of persons tightly gripped in god's hands.
I've see blind men wander through the foggy lands and drop lamps.

Stop the stampede this damned creed you've got is out of touch.
Making faces like you're used to people calling out your bluff.

Packed with insulation and stuffing.
The muck under the sole-less shoes soon reduced to nothing.

The gold's not important. We can't take it with us.
But you can take some pictures and explore the nature within us.