We passed through, the musty hands of a trashed youth..
To attach to, anything chastised and half truth..
A stand still, or as we call it -- slabbed proof..
Were ninety eight percent of man kills for (what?) the last two..
A black moon, eclipsed in hopes to map you your path of flight..
Exposed in the cast of night, but in the midst of captions..
Who's got the passion to write?
The passion to fight for, the lower class of society..
With more heart than the average..
Despite the lack of universal insight and gladness..
Stop the madness! kids stand at the hip stranded..
Coached by chances of, becoming rich from grams flipped..
Until the land shifts, and tilts from a stripped balance..
Still lit to the axis, where my, split habits kept me in-depth,
With the seeing power of a mythed Atlantis..
Rhythmic isms and planned hits, we used to talk with hands crisp..
'Cause back then, melodies where mixed with sand script..
But in deep thought, I see things more clearly..
And near me lies my old self I left somewhat needy..
Believe me, it's way beyond belief, how to determine a meaning..
When gravity reacts, all bullshit is seen stampeding..
I stand receiving, the guidance the pressure from caressing eye lids..
Spending time with, blind men, who can still appreciate the iris..
For when described they come alive, their sight becomes silenced..
Reminded of a life worth seeing, but never quite perceived with grace..
And when the sun sets I'm done with my disguise for the day..
To just relax with faults, no worries on both sides of the way
Cried for the will, cried for the day..
That'll never cry for those who cried for the same..
Pride remained definitive, thought described in a frame of mind..
Fine with being different, here's your deliverance..
...On A Naked Tree [ft.Langston Hughes]
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