| That verse versus the virus
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| Adverse curses unite us
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| (HEEDING THE SACRED WORD)
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| Like Horus and Osiris
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| With blood shed on papyrus
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| (BEATING THE SACRED drum)
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| We make these sacrifices so ya’ll can taste salvation
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| Building anew upon this foundation
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| Body and blood embodied in words and music
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| (READING THE ANCIENT WORDS)
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| So this bloody body of work’s a holy communion
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| (CALLING THE ANCIENT ONES)
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| Gaia, read it. |
| The verse and the scriptures. |
| Hit you with the deadliest viruses,
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| get ya. |
| Too many liars in the mix. |
| Fires, desires burn in their frames like
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| pictures. |
| She say 'no, what you mean? |
| Believe that.' |
| Love, respect, honor.
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| Two-fourth aqua-blue sun dress. |
| Shot by true confessions, take one guess.
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| Like a long look in the mirror, scarier. |
| See yourself clearer than the war on
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| terror. |
| Try to forewarn us, keep it up and you’re gone from here to the four
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| corners. |
| Or spin into a new fate: Just can’t wait two minutes past due date.
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| The truth will make you zoom higher, gone free and we can all sing kumbaya on
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| key
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| That verse versus the curses and cursed the first is word and the last is what
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| earth is
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| That verse versus the curses immersed in the first word in it’s «perfect»
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| purpose
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| That verse nursed and nourished in the husk of those that perished in the dusk
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| by those opposed to the throws of broken lyrics
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| (Imparted) with joy and suffering, empty stomachs, aching haunches,
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| and peaceful endings
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| Just transcend it
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| Taste it with us
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| Verses pregnant with divine presence
|
| The verse versus the virus. |
| The curse of broken eyelids
|
| A gift to those that I hit with words purpose and fire
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| The hurt converts to knowledge about the highest
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| Storytellers are good diets. |
| So do the science right. |
| List the numbers and math.
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| You can’t deny the plan, 5 is the number of man, 5 is the number again.
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| Combine them, the number is 10
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| 5 wounds, two hands, one side, two legs
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| God damn, never said for emphasis
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| I’m saying God please damn this man-made wretchedness, diseased and lecherous
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| Bombs over Baghdad
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| Bombs over Texas in the form of capital sentences, unnatural medicines
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| Or burning bushes that refuse to be consumed by hate
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| Abuse those that consume by day
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| At night there’s more cause for alarm
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| I’m Crucified with pen and sword daggers in either palm
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| And the beat goes on |