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Literature Text
I am the silence at night that wakes your ears to my rhythm, a whisper, propagation - reminiscent of what's given
I am the thread in a tapestry woven purely of intention, a creation, a man set on ascension.
It's my lips which speak the words that construct your demise, to realize one plan to actualize
My proximity to the war is not as close as the fray, as I sit , I pray, unmoved by the lay – believers set a tone in the song I cant sing, so high above reason it's still the only thing, the one true image which knowledge cant consume, like promises and wind swept harbingers drowned in gloom.
Bullets and bread loafs, bodies and Beemer's, where are the masses of the faithful and their fluid in-betweeners?
In conscious "anima corpus", you'll raise never more, the pitted half pruned figure of the boy who lived next door.
Truly, how truly did my heart pluck strings a sunder, echoing stentorian versus which flavored of thunder
Time for testing, for the testing of rhyme, within objections of resting in the versus of sublime
Rest following further quakes in the ripples on my heat, forever, and then further from long stances of my feet
Fuck you Shit face
I am the thread in a tapestry woven purely of intention, a creation, a man set on ascension.
It's my lips which speak the words that construct your demise, to realize one plan to actualize
My proximity to the war is not as close as the fray, as I sit , I pray, unmoved by the lay – believers set a tone in the song I cant sing, so high above reason it's still the only thing, the one true image which knowledge cant consume, like promises and wind swept harbingers drowned in gloom.
Bullets and bread loafs, bodies and Beemer's, where are the masses of the faithful and their fluid in-betweeners?
In conscious "anima corpus", you'll raise never more, the pitted half pruned figure of the boy who lived next door.
Truly, how truly did my heart pluck strings a sunder, echoing stentorian versus which flavored of thunder
Time for testing, for the testing of rhyme, within objections of resting in the versus of sublime
Rest following further quakes in the ripples on my heat, forever, and then further from long stances of my feet
Fuck you Shit face
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Yes, I wanted to be a rapper.
Comments2
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you, mister, have not only a vocabulary but a brain. If that weren't fascinating enough, you have wit, and rhythm and consciousness. What more could I ask for?
+fav, hands down.
+fav, hands down.