[D.H Skogen]
Blow out the candles. Tonight I don't want any light wasted
Film Americana fills my mouth but even light doesn't taste good
That's why MC's spit out
Faced with [?] complacence we turn away to rinse with act still this selfish plague lingers
Like twelve years of drum disease
Mix black, white, New Orleans, New York and gargle twice daily, drops of art's saline
Everything's gone blurry
What we saw clearly in the womb most won't know at thirty
It's a Thursday and I sit at home worried of soul hygiene
Like nat used all the training Visine
Defining literally what to be a mic fiend
We smoke away our pipe dreams
Yellow teeth decay and fallout, we stay all out, and always, all out, wondering what hell this hole crawled out
And touch the sky's mouth with this thing these songs house
We till the earth with dark clouds 'till the earth's scars heal
We resurrect the stars [?]
Pierce the night with large howls
We peace white walls with shit like revolution right now
Square off with sons of darkness in night rounds
We circle daughters of light wearing bright crowns
I'm like, bound to free death
Might drown in these breaths
Mics crowd and need rest
I frown and detest white power and regress to beat laid down for these heads
And this mic ain't going now where
Till I bush my teeth where justice leaks and trust my beats to put me down for another night
Blow out the candles, and get some rest