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Thread: N-Demik & Methane - raiders of the lost art: I Missed It

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    N-Demik & Methane - raiders of the lost art: I Missed It

    Lechz Heacon - raiders of the lost art: I Missed It

    I would play it smooth, avoid the truth, confronted in my youth
    that I was cursed since my birth and Karma fills my shoes.
    I can't deny it, so despite it, I ante up and try to buy it
    crystal Balls, tarot cards, seeking guidance from a Psychic!
    But if God's my only witness, then he's the one to judge me
    put angels on both shoulders - help to motivate and nudge me.
    And if I hadn'ta drown, id never found ..
    .. higher ground - the wine was my medicine
    but after i'd emptied it and penned all my penances,
    the sentences i'd etched, didn't express my sentiments.
    The perception of perfection is that it's simply our reflection
    so I stay away from mirrors, 'cause I fear my own rejection
    And luck protects them ^ At a time I felt I was balancing upon
    .. a golden plateau. My ego and flow enhancing along
    with my afflicting woes, now I'm reaping what I sew
    - for doing tasks I remember, for people I didn't know.
    He shook his head, from side to side, giving second glances
    sent some to the abyss, blessed others with second chances.
    Since it's my second time around, I should be making do
    but it's a strife living life, when I see everything as Dejavu.


    The evening night line echoes the derelict ticks of my chronometer
    obviously born to weaken, in a dream is where I'll prolly meet her.
    I'd rather it were all wreckless & perilous like terroristic hints
    the sole occurence of my wavered exuberance pinned upon the freezer.
    Unfortunetely now tinged with wrong demenor occuring invariably
    scared to speak, but as it transpires, words are impaired in speech.
    The last to be picked syndrome, in poems the writers voice.. divine
    chime melancholy carillons, for the sand to stop subsiding in time.
    Life is a lie, actuality astutely masked beneath candid graphics
    as if man's rationale was to keep Big Brother the handy Blacksmith!
    Missed the bus, the train, subway, missed Fate with the time of day
    so I can kill it with cigerettes.. 45 away in my faint lung estate.
    Here for a long stretch with Saddam Hussein running the lap of luxury
    functioning wonderfully under this Sod's Law, sacked for one mistake.
    Although I made the first wrong move like opening for a Scholar's Mate
    isolated.. dark clubs on the card, odds on a solitaire to fornicate?
    Form a shape- a shadow, autonomously anonymous..consciously dormant
    and be that Jon Doe door mat persona until you honestly forfeit!
    Last edited by ILLunatic; February 27th, 2005 at 12:28 AM


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