The story is
The million dollar profits
and ravaged and razed souls in the cemetery
are part of different stories.
Much like a cart and an ox
Used up and left for dead
but they the only option
The pathways to heaven are large
but they’re narrowed by the funnels
and called tunnel, opportunities.
I command respect from the masses
half playing half serious like Cassius
For every dollar made
A punch to the heart exclaimed.
Criticisms of modern history
Lay blowing in the wind
Its much too long a story
More than a several handlers
Led to where it lies now
But you just see it with the wind
Like that is the only option
Like thats the way it should be
Has to be
I recline to chill
retrospection on introspection
leaves me cheesing
smiles that were previously stolen from me
As I inhale
A breath is stolen
A brain wrinkles
As a heart sinks
Pass the rifle
BLAH BLAH bourgeois
It’s time to roll out
out of bed
hearing stories of the dead
opportunities are wasted
Its because of the hatred
The underlying gimmick is the huge roll of linen
enormous in size
the only thing in sight
all cut from the same cloth.
Lies of amber grain
Pies of propaganda
For every ball hit off that bat
Another fallen soldier
Street Disciple
Philosophical gangster
Too many thoughts
they deviate from reality
So he’s lost until the world finds him
Until each track is laid until the end of days
Centers of vanity and distraction
Filler
Fluff
Than the meat comes in
Emptied out and candy coated.