Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Achilles and the Tortoise , by - Buck 65. Song from the album Man Overboard, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопRelease date: 07.10.2002
Record label: Buck 65
Song language: English
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Achilles and the Tortoise , by - Buck 65. Song from the album Man Overboard, in the genre Рэп и хип-хопAchilles and the Tortoise |
| This collection of sketches, rough and scattered, is arranged by instinct. |
| There’s entropy at work, but mostly it happened by accident |
| Sure a story goes with this, but for it to make sense you’d have to be me, |
| And for it to make dollars I would have to be something I despise, |
| Don’t ask me how I managed, no one gets paid to make change, |
| Every morning I salute the flag, turn, grab the fingers of my left hand behind |
| my back and continue my search. |
| I’m wondering how I got here, |
| Who besides me is responsible? |
| I’m not the young man I was when I first wrote the code, |
| Now I dont have it in me to fuss over much. |
| I need sleep… more than ever before. |
| What remains of my violence is so precious that I keep it all of it to myself. |
| What frightens me most now is my gradual loss of hearing. |
| So i’m guided more and more by vibes. |
| I shield my eyes from flickering images and document my dreams with as much |
| detail as possible. |
| I figure I’ll write my book when its all I can do, but I don’t know. |
| Have you any idea how hot these sands are? |
| Ya, i come in contact with the odd scavenger here and there, but those |
| encounters rarely amount to much |
| I just gaze the same few black and white photographs: |
| Distant loves, long lost souls. |
| diamonds of my most glorious moments, |
| I remember the gold rush |
| Ya, she makes me laugh now to think of the risks I took |
| The monuments will remain, and thats all that matters but the question always |
| becomes: |
| 'Am I happy?' |
| When young, we mourn for one woman, |
| When we grow old, for woman in general, |
| The tradgey in life is man is never free, |
| Yet strives for what can never be, |
| The thing most feared in secret, always happens: my life, my love, |
| where are they now? |
| But the more the pain grows, the more this instinct for life somehow asserts |
| itself, |
| The necessary beauty in life is giving yourself to it completely. |
| Only later will it clarify itself as not coherant |
| I wandered the fields and listen for the sound of drums |
| The colder the ground becomes the closer I get I home |
| The planets not fit to roam but with all the chaos |
| But, when I saw the savages I played the law of averages |
| And when the river splits in half, I start to lose my wits and laugh |
| And cry at the same time, there’s nothing I can do about it |
| Even though I wouldn’t doubt it, if the winds began to blow |
| And carry the sounds of my voice to the lands below |
| So I put my hands around my mouth and hollered to the sunken city |
| That, wallows in the filth of its own drunken pity |
| And wait to see a signal but a signal is never seen |
| Eventually fatigue builds inside me exponentially and so I sleep |
| And dream that I’m able to fly |
| «They will respect a man with wings!» |
| Later I awake, in agony and learn |
| That while I was sleeping the city had burned |
| Shrugging my shoulders, I paused and gathered thoughts |
| Think twice about staying put, then decide I rather not |
| So I press on in my agnostic pilgrimage |
| Knowing that I can swim deeper than the grim reaper |
| Ready for whatever sea creatures may abound |
| When the water swallows me and not the other way around |
| Survival saw me through the mechanical district |
| Starvation leads to being cannibalistic |
| I have to rely on cons and silence and non talking quick |
| Defending myself with nothing but this walking stick |
| I’ve never had friends and no parental guidance |
| I’m wild at heart and weird on top, I’m feared nonstop |
| Even though my rage is worn out |
| My life’s a book with several pages torn out. |
| I just climb trees and look for rhythm everywhere. |
| I used to be the town crier in a city of stone throwers |
| Until my soul was laid bare and displayed in the pearled square |
| Ignored, more than a lot, not less, no one understood my thought, process |
| I was gagged and bound over noise complaints |
| But, commanding the resolve that destroys constraints |
| I found my escape in a melding of memories |
| The next thing I know, I’m rowing this boat |
| And blowing this note on an old tarnished trumpet |
| (Pause for trumpet sample) |
| Ever since then I’ve been wondering lots |
| Watching the sky and pondering thoughts |
| Strange angel, music box genie |
| Behind for some time and now I’m blind in one eye |
| And how this happened exactly will never be known |
| My thoughts take the shape of the hang-man's house |
| Never fails in time-traveling salesman visiting |
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