| To the window, walls of the circus
|
| In crescendo crawl to the surface
|
| Finna get on and off axis
|
| Off balance in trance and contrasting
|
| Read the dot that stop on the line
|
| Intertwined with emerald rock on the crown
|
| Stick a match in a sycophant now he lighten up
|
| Flip the stance into praying mantis and bite the dust
|
| This that righteous, combat mic shit
|
| On that subliminal compact brightness
|
| Tacit possessive reflection slept in the effigy
|
| As the progressive ascension kept it from pedigree
|
| Animus, put a man in abandonment and he vanishes
|
| Like lambs in the parishes, landed in banishment
|
| Who put the worms in the hook, the words in the book
|
| Oh the trickery stink of disguise
|
| Stick to skies, and then maybe you fly
|
| Like Icarus slip from Sun ligament
|
| Some think they’d run quick when gun trigger spit
|
| Always seem to set one switch that come with a trick
|
| I ain’t ever kept one itch that come with a fix
|
| Broke into pieces shattered
|
| Matter stick to the feet of the ladder
|
| Finna climb up stay three steps ahead of shit |
| Till the time up to reset the mechanist
|
| What it denote
|
| Everything got sequels
|
| What you see might be what you need might mean what you be is it equal
|
| Stole position and got caught
|
| Out of touch with the fiction it’s not thought
|
| Ring round the myriad aspects
|
| Arm, leg, leg arm head let arms rest
|
| Been around ground still around now
|
| Surround sound in drowned fountain of found vows |