January
Sunday 18 October 2009 photo 1/1
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My appetites for sitting in cityscapes in black and white/
Crackin' light Smittys I'm shitty faced to crash at night/
The passive type, who's a lost pathetic dreamer/
Terrified to be a victim with a walking dead demeanor/
I'm coughing emphysema, caught in coffins in between/
A cautious innocence while listening to Andre Nikatina/
If you could trace my steps a couple minutes/
Huh, if I get crossed you fall like London bridges/
I do this for pot heads playin' sick as a teen/
And insomniacs who still will raise a fist for the dream/
For Street Fighter 2 and David Lynchian scenes/
For Tupac Shakur and Rage Against the Machine/
I'm a cynical, profitable, raw syllables I'll spit at you/
Similar to the kid named Rakim will do/
I'm identical to that of Pac's mental too/
I rock spiritual without a break or stop interval/
I'm from the state where the rain will never stop/
Hendrix was from and Cobain perfected rock/
A place seagulls land where the space needle stands/
And fuck Bush stickers decorate people's vans/
I watch the wind blow, leaves caught in limbo/
Tiptoe past the season's frosty skin tone/
Seein' glossy crystals, I try and catch it/
Describe it all inside my Writes of Passage/
Crackin' light Smittys I'm shitty faced to crash at night/
The passive type, who's a lost pathetic dreamer/
Terrified to be a victim with a walking dead demeanor/
I'm coughing emphysema, caught in coffins in between/
A cautious innocence while listening to Andre Nikatina/
If you could trace my steps a couple minutes/
Huh, if I get crossed you fall like London bridges/
I do this for pot heads playin' sick as a teen/
And insomniacs who still will raise a fist for the dream/
For Street Fighter 2 and David Lynchian scenes/
For Tupac Shakur and Rage Against the Machine/
I'm a cynical, profitable, raw syllables I'll spit at you/
Similar to the kid named Rakim will do/
I'm identical to that of Pac's mental too/
I rock spiritual without a break or stop interval/
I'm from the state where the rain will never stop/
Hendrix was from and Cobain perfected rock/
A place seagulls land where the space needle stands/
And fuck Bush stickers decorate people's vans/
I watch the wind blow, leaves caught in limbo/
Tiptoe past the season's frosty skin tone/
Seein' glossy crystals, I try and catch it/
Describe it all inside my Writes of Passage/
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