| I exist in a state of consistant transition
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| plans shifting, with insuffitient ambition
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| man listen, this is my advice
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| die or fight, get caged in or take flight
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| on the page inside the margin i make light
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| appear in the form of the words i write
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| its all solar, from the lows to highs
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| but your blinded by the wool pulled over ya eyes
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| by over-sized flies, that feed off waste
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| take the icing on the cake, and leave without trace
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| the man without a face i stay anonymous
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| the way we livin day to day stays monotonous
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| like ya bland sound
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| but with the weight of the world on top of us we still stand ground
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| and brake down, your fasination with the fabrication of the truth
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| make use of your imagination
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| in the pursuit of expression
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| not as a disguise to, hide behind when undressing
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| ya bredrin, i reckon, the question is this
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| to be or not to be — a simple lesson in risk
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| imparting this text, is my only life after death
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| im left gasping for breath
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| asking for less tention and stress, about to suffocate
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| it feels like i need devine intovention to resusitate me lately
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| its like frustration has taken its hold
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| restraining me from breaking the mold
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| or making the most of my creative control
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| times taking its toll, im elevating my soul by
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| taking the old to the new like nice and smooth
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| my voice high likes to groove
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| the break sets the move, i express my attitude
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| towards my foes and those who show no gratitude
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| you cant calulate my longitude or latitude,
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| navigate my catacombe, or reach my altitude
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| im too high, far too fly to stay stationary
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| basically i keep it constructive, like masonary
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| blantenly disruptive, and its disgracefully corruptive
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| system plagued with injustice
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| but this is purity, you cant touch this
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| its much more to me, than just fuck-ish
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| but i cant let that discourage,
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| i salvage anything of value from the rubbish and repair
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| i wont be driven into submission or dispair
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| i prepare for war i heard the rhythem of the snare (right there) |