For practice I write with ashes in pitch blackness on flip sides of matches The sparked friction my pen spits to the sound of ya life's film strip when it ends
Infinite Zen Turned sober civillians. Soaked gasoline over Golden Pavillions The fire and cloud admire the style higher than mt. zion I acquired it how?
Locked in the dollar bin anonymous conquering your solace with Saladin politics Stretching out: Ottoman colonists Spit lyrics hotter than your bottomless choleric
So If you got a minute then im rocking the cold to two-twelve-little o on thermometers omens show flows dont expire betwixt spliffs myths not pitched prior spit fire
Come through forces slamming the stars torches to your rhymes damage your art Paper up in flames checmicals collected besiged your city while the emperor slept in
Burned at the stake eternally waste return thermal energy I procured for my race
Historians shift stories victorious grip glory in the form of lit warriors
Origins obscurred on quests with breathless swords from the forge of Hephaestus Lest us open wars like the trojan horse coaxing frozen domes into glowing orbs
So, of course you not mentioned when they pen quotes They made reference to your death in the end notes Sent low over rich fibre thick wire come by I whip up a quick choir spit fire.