Feeling like putting myself on the chopping block—social discourse;
Having no remorse for using the resource of life force;
Seemingly craft is my wife and poem is my child
Naturally pen is my knife for the sake of the beasts of the wild

Tomb
I will make my home
Before I deliver the quill to the hands of the Reaper
Or swallow the pill of the Piper;
Making the runes to decipher
You can consider me another lifer

Lifе—is living in strife
Even its playroom
Is loaded with black balloons;
Tryna makе the poachers find their love
But they see us all as baboons

Icin'
Upon the cake that's garnished with some ricin

Feisty
Is what they say to the people fighting for their liberty
Or tryna find some tranquility
Anyone apart from hegemony
For them it's called revolutionary
For they own term civility
Looking across the sea
I see the same mentality:
Governments squelching dissent
Ostensibly for the sake of God and country

Hold my canteen
Though I'm panting