The epicenter of the inner spiritual
here to spit at y'all from the outer core, deep as an albacore
capture scenes with maximum aperture
I'm not an amateur more like an avatar (om)
never gonna fall nor am I mad at all
I just grab the devil by the horns like a matador
beats galore, take'em ship'em straight out the door (ay)
a giant in a miniature town, don't frown
that-a boy, I'ma catapult rhymes from my data port
at this point I could ill-afford bullet holes in my metaphors
California's my home, invest in myself even when I'm hella poor
therefore, the more I get in to a war with boredom
all I'm looking for is a portal to get to a level where
my consciousness can constantly
concoct a conversation with the heavens till I die
Suddenly, you start to understand the subtleties
how the colors don't fit the frame
kind of like how nude and porn ain't the same
kids born with pain, heart torn in twain
I board the train, go all terrain
to stroll the lane called memory
game over, all the fame ain't worth a thing
it's so simple and plain, what's to gain?
so we'd know better to aim to maintain and keep the mind sane
I ain't a saint but I use the paint of words to create the rain
to cleanse the soul of dirt and be free of vain
only to turn around in shame and do it again, damn
The epicenter of the inner spiritual
here to spit at y'all from the outer core, deep as an albacore
dope literature
After summer, fall naturally like autumn leaves
return to the soil like broken pottery
dirty words put together make beautiful poetry
property over spirit make mental poverty
probably, given the spreadsheet I'm an anomaly
abnormally speaking it's all a make-believe
maybe when enabling the labor and the loving in the air,
disabling the labeling we all win in the end
maybe when enabling the labor and the loving in the air,
disabling the labeling we all win in the end
The epicenter of the inner spiritual
here to spit at y'all from the outer core, deep as an albacore
dope literature
