I have this recurring thought of getting a revolver and placing one bullet in the chamber as an offer to fate, or a challenge, like "Here's my pound of flesh. Take if my purpose is in death." Then I'd record it, so you could hear fate's response I'd either "bang" drop or "click" breath hard [be]cause, you know, philosophies only go so far It's words, words, words then tomorrow we're forgotten "The world is very different now." "The ballet or the bullet explains itself." "Only when it is dark enough can you see the stars." "I heard shots. And, I saw people crawling on the floor." "The apostle of non-violence and the civil rights movement." "He brought to the white house the vigor of youth." "The bullet exploded in his face." "..and I heard my husband say, everything is alright, everything is alright." - (In order of appearance) John F. Kennedy, Malcolm X, Martin Luther King Jr., Betty Shabazz, Walter Cronkite

If I become someone else after this trust me it wasn't by accident and I don't mean my soul will change but the way I'm perceived will go through changes The Greeks once said that in each sunset is a God that competes, some said with the artist, and if that artist brought us a painting of the sunset, does that mean he caught him? And then he's viewed as more than a man is [be]cause he caught a God with a brush and a canvas and does that take a toll on the painter? Did he catch a God or did God catch his paint brush? Either way he's exalted To an alter by the people, then he's brought to a blasphemous status to the pastors where he becomes a God to the masses Is it the fate of an artist To go from a man to be viewed as God is? I understand Ebenezer, in front of a grave wiping the frost off to reveal his name Can destiny be tamed? Or are we on tracks like whores or trains [be]cause if my blood doesn’t run red then it's me being painted as Apollo in your sunset and the average man can't understand this They'll view me like Atlantis, or ghosts in their pantry I’m Poseidon worshipped by the leeches [be]cause flow's violent, getcha seasick Transformed by the essence of the art Confused by man as a God, I wonder if Jesus encouraged the distinction, or if he was a man turned God once we deemed him So the artist, the painter, the demi-God Wished he never painted anything he saw Psychologically it was wearing Being thought of as a God when his flesh was apparent So he burned all of his paintings Heart racing Lit a match to some gas in the basement Started pacing, his house engorged he locked the doors, plopped to the floor, heard the flames roar They started licking his toes and then his knees Then the pain ceased, and in the flame there was peace He took a breath of his humanness, as tears rolled down his burnt flesh, gone were his ear lobes gone was his nose and then his lips and his skin dripped off like the roads of a Venice trip And this was it, his heart was right then, feeling most human looking nothing like it

See we're lost in the scope of things A lost generation, a couple hopeless beings with no care, what's to care for? We're all werewolves eating up the nightlife [be]cause life's unfair to all of us, 'cept when the dollar come wanna spring like the time before the summer come Nothin' defines us but pints of liquor and drunk pictures anything to make the sun go down quicker The moon's my sun My home 'till the movers come So come celebrate our pointless run in this history of ours their history is lies let's burn it down, fuck it if our history dies Let's start over, fuck it if religion exists [be]cause then we'd stop fightin' over all the stupidest shit And the truth is, man, you are what your mom was How bout you are what you are, son Talkin' 'bout [Chorus] My God, this world it's so cold to me We're high where the lows should be Hopefully, we find where our hope could be It's in I, my fate is mine And I'm lost, but to me it's found What makes me, is it the pointless war? A shot that's poured to ignore the fact I'm alone Should I join the corp [be]cause I don't got a desk job? If my success stop, join what I'm a pest of? Nah, rather be lost then a cost of A war that's possibly fixed so my boss gets money from the loss of my life when I fought [be]cause I'm not a motherfuckin' soul to be bought Should I, chase the dream that America's deemed as ours with a white picket fence, wife, 2-door garage Why? So I can lie and say I'm alright with a life prescribed to quench my thirst for purpose? My work on earth isn't about materialism about your wallet or what's in your fuckin' purse or isn't It's about now and what now is Not the minute nor the day nor the hour [Chorus] I may be lost but it's better than bein' lead into a grown mold like a plant in a chia pet We're lead by blind men straight to confinement Without prison walls, I use bars to define it and expose, what's already there and imposed 'cept I use metaphors, poems and prose some use bombs and napalm set to explode either way, there's a motherfuckin' truth uphold And they're watchin' all've us, lost in our youth, we're used to accept their fuckin' views in school and we're molded, from our generation to the oldest into comatosis by those who oppose us The other night I dreamt I fought behind a bike rack Hung by my toes [be]cause I write raps Then they asked me, we're the law, why you test us? And I said, "Bitch, cuz I'm young and I'm restless", talkin' bout [Chorus]

I pose a question What's more evasive? Love or the memory of dreams as we waken? ..and what's more feared than death? What's two faced like a cheek to the mirror's edge? So oppressive at it's end, that it seems to be defying the obsession it begins while the pessimist defends that it was never love but this, in itself, could prove that it was It coos at the barriers of sex daring it to stifle the life within it's breadth ..yet crucified when assessed, for at times, an enigma, it confuses and offends pews in a church over two-sets of men or the views of a congress on the age of consent So I ask, what is this that's so mystic? The last fantasy we accept, yet insist What is love? What is love? Is it just another God for us to dream into existence, like mirages of crucifixions, Muhammads and Allahs, to reclaim the sleep which our questions once robbed? Is it a purpose? The lonely feel worthless, so is this why we spend time searching to unearth it, and those who can't find it receive it in their church, like it's coming from a God if it won't from a person? Oh, the tricks we insist upon, to make magic seem like realistic thought, it's like what's fictional or not is defined by the comfort or distress it may cause But is the question worth posing? And If answered, could we find it for the lonely? Then place it in a pill to deplete the "if only"s that plague those who've loved or those who've never known it The loveless, now is that just a sickness? Waiting to be cured by a chemist in an instant? A pestilence for those who are distant, which symptoms are prayer for someone just to miss them Or is it all just disappointing like stars falling to the glow of a distant morning made complex by it's witnesses, like the dissection of simple arithmetic What is love? What is love? I often wonder what it's like to have your head in the clouds I'd pay for this delusionist imaginarium Where love and God are like air and rocks They'd brush my cheeks and scrape my knees at least

When death's young like a blunt to the wind Life's dark like the sky when the sun wasn't in Like in a car crash, the kids all pass Was it God or the devil causin' all that Pause and solve that, tell me was it God or the Devil in their alcohol takin' harbor Or a martyr, killed for his beliefs Was it God or the Devil that choked him in his sleep See, I wrote God and the Devil wrote back So I called for a demon and an angel showed up Now when I make hits like I'm Sammie Sosa Is it Jehovah? or Lucifer playin' poker But I oppose that, me and God are kosher but I got devil in my sleeve sayin', "So what it's me in what I wrotcha", I think it's all good willed Who knows, maybe it's the devil makin' moves still [Chorus] I use water to bake my fire I see truth in the speak of a liar Is that the devil or God? Dead men tell no tails full of bills [Be]cause bills suck life, superstition of a still Pissin' on a mill, [be]cause the devil's in the silk of a man who lost to a handful of pills But what if that man's death was a seed and it Freed all the people who were victim to his greed Was that God in a suicide? Or just the devil doin' good, if he knew it or not See, it all comes 'round like sex on a turn pike Dark turns light when the moons bright Who's right? Devil or God, man, it's all for a reason You'd never like the weather if it never changed seasons It's all for the good of things Learn to tie a knot from trippin' on your shoe strings Red'll turn green when your mood swings Does it really matter what changed the color of your mood ring? [Chorus] Would it be worth it if the world was perfect? Would it make a chick take an apple from a serpent? I assert that joy feels best after hurtin' That's why a cut wrist is an escape for a person An escape for a person, to vacate as person Helps us love life when home base isn't workin' It's a balance of hurting, lies and joyous evenings You can't appreciate the health without the bleeding Hell's perceived to give a reason for the heavenly Just like a beat gives a reason for a melody Green's for your celery, lies are for your newscast Red's for your heartbeat, the truth is you'll lose that So, live faster, time's an assassin Life's a damn bully so stop livin' passive Love life's bittersweet-ness from the vine [be]cause you're still gonna age when you whine [Chorus]

First, we begin in the womb, then shoved through a crescent moon, then loved in a fluorescent room of Doctors, and blessings too from Uncles and Aunties and Gramps and Grannies who say all the "awwhs" and "ooohs", because they're envious of you, and what a welcome to the gauntlet, with a potential so monstrous, this was your moment, ironic we can't recall it But without a doubt, we were perfect at first before we could, walk, sit or say words [be]cause then a few years past 12, self-consciousness develops and compels some to get a noose and put a note in an envelope, kick the chair out, then jump, and change their mind while in mid-air but then they're an ornament, a chandelier, and become one of [Chorus] So many people So many people One of So many people So many people One of So many people who lost their soul to this game of actors, directors and roles to this game of cards, and decided to fold and I can't tell you what they chose was wrong [Be]cause Maybe death is gumdrops and heaven But I'm not a reverend or a betting man So we begin in the womb, then shoved through a crescent moon, then loved in a fluorescent room of Doctors, and blessings too from Uncles and Aunties to Gramps and Grannies who say the "awwhs" and "ooohs", because they're envious of you, then make it to middle age with a job and a house that's so gorgeous, 2 porches, orchids by your front doorstep and you're with, a woman you've adored for years and more than anything you want to seem satisfied with the boredom but you can't, and it bleeds through your eyes when you see your wife, in the waiting room while your daughter gives life to a baby who has many days left to become bored and depressed so you're sitting there, fucking envious, as one of those [Chorus] Then you'll end in a bed and soon in a fluorescent room of daughters and sons of nieces and of your nephews you'll part the planet but before they'll want an answer of what to do with life if you could plan it and then you'll tell them I don't know and no one does regardless of what someone says none of it makes much sense so I guess I worship nothingness But, I'd rather that said here dying on my deathbed Then me pretend I know more from living longer than the next man I'm still confused as shit just satisfied in it pacified by the fact that every man will die and that I'm not the only one who's gone who's disappeared into the fog I'm just another set of eyes that will cease to see at all as one of So many people, so many people One of so many, many, many people [Chorus]

Tell me why In the mind of the Pope you would see evil and lead sheeple with lies and deceive people Perceived peaceful, kind and believed feeble But breed evil, disguised then decreed legal Your creed's evil, judgement averted If herded, the sheep become prey to the perverted And you'll defend lions over lamb because they earned it Say "they crossed the line"? Fucker, you blurred it And you could give a shit less about some fuckin' witness Kids just make shit up, that's what'll fix this Wait, they're believin' em? Shit. well. Why you got 'em bleedin' on your dick still? Wash the shit off, I'm thinkin', sit still We can lie and say God will forgive 'em They gotta do what God says, at least most of 'em And I'm hostin' em, I'll announce what we discussed God can forgive him, so this kid must "..Earlier this year the rind report laid bare the physically and psychologically abusive regimes operated by religious orders and state run institutions." If I was lost In the thoughts of a figure of the peace movement I'd be soothing, calm, and lead the weak through it I'd say, "Hello, my name is Charles, you homeless? I got a place for you tomorrow. Although, you can stay a while if you want to. I'm all about peace, man, love, you should follow. and do I got drugs? Yes. Of course. But I'm a bit short son. Hey, whatever, it's love, you can't afford some? Here's some for free. My best LSD. And, man, I think you're lonely [be]cause the best left with me. You should really come with us, and talk 'til dusk And who you lookin' at? her? Man, she walks with us So come chill, your real, it's in the way that you laugh But I kinda got a favor to ask, we're gonna visit this ass and this girl who get faker for cash, and I'm all about the real man, the fake shouldn't last, So here's a knife, here, take it. Wait. What? Are you fakin'? I thought you were real, man, shit, look I'm not satan! I'm a soldier for God, a soldier for peace And all of these rich motherfuckers are just spawn of the beast So come on, man "In a scene described by one investigator as reminiscent of a weird religious right, five persons, including actress Sharon Tate, were found dead at the home of Ms. Tate and her husband, screen director Roman Polanski." If I was peaceful, I'd dance in a war zone And if I was evil I'd hide in the wardrobe of a good man [Be]cause, that's where the lost search for answers Suspect not a witch while in Kansas So I would hide well Disguise the truth like my lies will You're thinkin' I'm the cleanest, but I'm sicker than your NyQuil A trickster, blank mines trust [be]cause my lies plain Seein' I'm a dove, but I'm a pigeon dipped in white paint I've been to hell and back, Satan gave me pointers Taught me how to be a king without bein' fuckin' appointed I've avoided any motherfucker try to oust me Why search for evil while your at a family outing? Get it? Like why search for hours in a minute? That wouldn't make sense, but that's why I'm in it And I'll reign 'till infinite right under your nose Just hope I don't poison your soul "In the wild, it is survival of the fittest and often the game is one by any animal who can remain unseen."

The night was ripe and I was pickin’ grapes off it, taken off at like midnight, then I'd say softly that it wouldn't be met with what normally bested me, which be whiskey and weed but indeed it did, and I was gone like a cough to a lozenger Walked up in a house to 'em all doin' dollar hits (of coke) while talking cognitive, rhetoric like philosopher's about death, life, love, just pondering Solvin' themselves these shells of truth that they'll lose once their high's through, and I guess that defines youth, Then there's poets praying for plagues or bombs so they'll have something more to write in essays or songs [be]cause they're bored of war and can't do shit about politics so get real fuckin' drunk and then imagine they can abolish it But then they'll get old, and have some kids of their own then those kids will say the same shit 'till their old and it repeats over and over, and watch the news - they're still saying that the world's fucked and they've got it on film Like, Yeah, kill, kill, kill, shit, did everybody die? Double that, we need ratings, call it, umm, a genocide! Then after a 2-hundred thousand dollar commercial, we're shown kids blown to bits in a country we've never heard of then some have the nerve to comment like they know shit sayin, "Oh, that's God punishing the heathens' indulgence" and they believe it, because passion with a good voice passes as fact to like half of those who hear the noise So bon voyage and whatnot or whatever, I'll sever ties with my senses forever I'm so exisistential, and selfishly bitter, like, look, take my rights but leave me my liquor (Leave us our liquor!) Then I see all these women wearing make up for the sake of perfecting the face that appears when they wake up and I wonder what it'd be like to live as a girl where your face isn't good enough to show to the world it's odd, a woman's life is a fashion show and a guy's not a guy unless he's smashing those and they say, we're all free in most ways but what most don't calculate is that we're slaves mostly to culture giving ulcers to a kid who likes pink, [be]cause when Daddy calls him faggot, he likes blue to be abiding, or a girl who was lonely, and was forced to pretend but then blew a bunch of dudes and had a room full of friends then we're all Che 'til our youth runs out a bunch of Bolsheviks, that conform somehow I see kids pushin' world peace out their mouths and to them I say, no, the world's a fuckin' slaughterhouse We're all living on stolen roads A peace sign's just fashionable So I'll be sitting here See you when you save the world Or when you wake up and you save yourself

I'm not a czar I'm not a saint Nor am I homeless I'm not afar Nor close Nor content I can't dream or fall in love I can't hope for the best as a small addition to the soil I didn't get the flowers or the gifts I didn't hear your cried sentiments But if one thing is said with no help from a breath it wouldn't say, but it's state would confess.. I'm just another damn coffin in another damn hole in the ground I was young I was brave I was someone I could love I could feel and express But how could I have known that what I felt was a loan borrowed then returned at it's end I would've been crass estranged or a nomad I would've fought for no one but myself And some may insist to call me selfish but in the end, all of us are the same Just another damn coffin in another damn hole in the ground

Where's my soul? I wanna behold it. For I never sold it Is it in between my eyes where my skull is? Or is it somewhere dormant, forged somewhere beyond the senses For if we never learned to see it, then our mind will never sense it But still, I ponder its inner workings, head off to church and ask God where my soul is lurkin', and if responsive he'd probably say the body's just a cockpit and we're all goin' down like drunks when they're nauseous But do fixes of substances help us find ourselves? act as maps of our conscious-es? or, to the honest, is this just an excuse to get high above the lows that we're used to, instead of choosing death and I'm not afraid of that, [be]cause it's all natural like birth, but I wonder what was before this debacle Before the womb, where did Kai loom, and whom decided who or what body I'd bring to the tomb Assume we were aloof before life Just souls chillin', then wanted to get high feelin' so we took some shit, 28 grams of it, then started trippin' and this is what the damn trip is, a drug induced illusion of movement and we'll wake up soon when death strikes like it's bowlin' down the alley and the pins are losin' So who's in charge of your mirage, what facade do you decide to adopt upon you leaving your garage [Be]cause all of us where masks and costumes to try to be apart of some clique or creed that we believe we belong to But so long to it all and it's long overdue I threw my mask away like I do when October's through Is your soul so gross that it repulse you? Donned a mask so the damn world can't assault you? some say it's 21 grams, but I'll say it's 28 [be]cause souls are bought and sold like coke of the same weight I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness Starving, hysterical, naked Angel headed hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night ... Who were expelled from the academies for crazy and publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull Who coward in unshaven rooms in underwear burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the terror through the wall - [Excerpts from "Howl" by Allen Ginsberg] As I sit and ponder livin' death smokin' cigarettes, I wonder if my shit's hot like a summer trip, but I'm done with it Expectations can suck dick, that's some punk shit If I cared than my art couldn't function People care too much, giving two fucks about thumb suckers' opinions, when they matter none We are who we are, victims of fates hands You're trippin' 'bout race when all our souls are 28 grams Love can never do what hate can, so hey cool kid, hate society and not the man that it made foolish That it made ghoulish, we're products of a system but I taught you to resist 'em, so reject your papa's wisdom, [be]cause this a new age, like your birthday at midnight where knives are at fist fights and truth's insight lacks from most windpipes, but we sit tight while women get exploited for the point of sellin' shit for coins and dollars And all this, honest, is darkness that's upon us Rights gone [be]cause we fear some terrorists might bomb us? Well, that's fear mongerin', used by the news to make us feel scared of somethin' when we're 10 years removed [Be]cause if it's comin' from the people we love Then all the sudden their motherfuckin' opinion is ours Like actors plaster their views when broadcastin' then, followed by the masses, their vote is what we're all castin' But the fact is, most are selfish asses passive, won't give a coin to the dude crashin' where the trash is But for fashion? They'll spend a grand on some damn shoes Sayin' the homeless will waste it, well shit, look at you and shit's true, so who will look past their pupils and cataracts and change shit like a laxative after this, Become the proactive activist with the innate chance That you could die fightin' for your 28 grams

I stay on the ground disregarded for the way I are I see those in the sky I see the bottoms of their feel, their soles They made him hate who he was He tried to climb to prove his worth But his shortness of breath At the top made him slip and then he fell away from all their lonely cold embrace He fell so long and found in his home, in his own space That he was highly satisfied highly satisfied tumbling his way down home Another made to serve In heaven but hoped to reign on earth A morning star could fall if it wished it so It was stuck in the sky Wished to fall, this meteorite So he tore his way out of space, and who watched would say He fell away from all His lonely cold embrace He fell so long ago from the hold of proposed grace and he was highly satisfied Highly satisfied tumbling his way down home We'll fall from the peak Or we already have Been chased to a darker place All watching it crack We're watching it end This construct that we've made While most of us crawl for what we were, some embrace the fall And walk away from all we've done and what we've made We'll fall not long from now from the comfort of this place And we'll be highly satisfied highly satisfied tumbling our way down home

I wonder what's around me actually If it's all just coding passively Controlling everywhere I'm going Directing everything I'm knowing If my muscles move [be]cause they want them to And I'm tricked to think what I saw them do Was my own move in this game of chess When it's really them who's playing us So I wanna have God in my veins [be]cause I heard she saves If this a game, I don't care to win I'm not a hero, man, but she's a heroine I wanna die free Sent to heaven with a needle stuck inside me Fuck an I.V., let my mind bleed, I be auctioning my soul so God won't find me I'll do blow with a broad crack is a God, heaven's in a bag in the car white lighter heathens bringing bad luck to my fire breathin' I wanna be gone But gone is a term Gone is a word puts pawns in an urn we're all gonna burn and we're all gonna die So let me get high, skip the stars in the sky And I'll head to fuckin' heaven, take God for a ride, take God for a ride I need a fuckin' dollar, sell my car and my pride, car and my house and my clothes sell my fuckin' kid if my spouse didn't know Spouse didn't know that the house forclosin' Clouds in my home, [be]cause my mouth still frozen I've been chosen, finally I belong So I ain't gonna move 'till I see God "This sort of thing has cropped up before, and it has always been due to human error." See, life's just a puppet show And fate's just a clever puppeteer So I wanna get high above the strings in the ceiling Check for the seams in my skin when it's peelin' [be]cause I know I'm fake and nothing exists I could rip my face off, replace it with a cyst Then I wouldn't see shit, Except for the thoughts in my mind And I'd reinvent colors, and reinvent time I'd be God and Adam and eve and the wind combating the trees would be patterns of me But the home I think Is a product of the puppet strings And they find it amusing That a pawn believes he's choosing That a pawn believes in freewill Like he chose the shoes his feet fill I didn't choose these, I was forced in 'em coerced like a porcelain doll who was molded in a world to be and I have to break so my soul can leave I find my freedom in sock drawers And it's not my fault I'm just a puppet and they're playing with me We're not in control We're just part of a show So shoot me higher Gettin' higher now I see my body below And everyone's cryin' My mom's in my house and my eyes look dead, [be]cause my soul's comin' out They gave us dreams as the escape out of this game we're forced to play And drugs were made to force the dream on restless days So bless the weeks when I could sleep and dream in peace [be]cause now I cease to exist I plead to God to let me live for the puppets in our hopeless fate I love them more, then the show I hate So let me go, tie the strings back on I'd rather be a pawn than pass alone

I want to say so much, but sometimes words aren't enough, sometimes our tongues can't dance or tap a rhythm that can express all that's within them for at times, in a word can live not just a thought, but a metropolis and if not magnified, they're dismissed as just vowels grouped with consanants, But.. I’m not a simple person, but I don’t think anyone is, an ant constructs a labyrinth without ever really knowing it, and a spider forgets it’s artistry, and it’s the one who’s sewing it So here’s to not knowing the supposed growing vastness and being one of many ants, victim of death and taxes, and to the tapestry likely sewn due to all of the actions of us people, and being fine without some purposes to back them See, I feel cursed at times, cursed as the disconnected, it’s as if, to my own life, I must remain objective Like every frame, of every second, dancing across my eyes are just that, a show, and to my soul they’re merely televised And I’m stuck in this theater of the senses and cognition forced to view this life pass, like a projector full of pictures I want to fall in love, feel some connection with another soul but maybe in another life, I think, if ever at all There’s so much shame involved in everything I’ve done they say mistakes make you who you are, but, I liked who I was So here’s to the future, and here’s to you maybe you can learn from what I’ve done in this pathetic human suit But, maybe, with a chance, We’ll begin again

May rain pour and bring me outside my home To chase hurricanes and boast That I've seen eyes inside these foes of planes, champagne and roads That I decline my life as some simple insult To time So here's the melody, I'm Jericho Now, if it's treasonous to wreck these walls then Hang me too I'll pay my dues I'd rather hang here from my head and neck than live inside abused So tie the noose May lakes overflow And may I sail my house, and float through states, like a freight of coal and change the home I call my own to just my skin and bones and as escaping, watch myself unfold Like all those stories we're told or those we wrote while wishing for something more Or I will just fly away And yeah, it's treasonous to wreck these walls and they'll hang you too in plain view But we'll be hanging there, all caught up in the end, As slaves to who? The hangman knew If they let me drop They'll envy how free I've become