Traded in cigarettes for short prayers in long breathes
meditative musical layers hold the strong treasure chest
opening the young gun’s lungs
one sung clear as yet, a clarinet blues hum
impressed passed em the rum and told him to run

now the only thing smoking is the smoking gun
for when the marathon begun
he finished completely diminished of adrenaline
my kinfolk become one with the drum
stumbling around getting gum stuck on her gown
better than her hair, she’d still move to the snare
weave and whoop on to a stoop if you give a hoot

where we place our boots traveling streets unaware
I used to drive everyday I was alive, to survive
now I walk at a steady pace to find my path in stride

Trying to make it Real compared to what?

combustible engine fair dust
makes for more War
with staked value in ore
where the bombs are stored
when policy mistakes are unsure
Were the incidents isolated or sincerely by pure surprise?

Plugged in the Axiom 25
to hear measures of cleverly rendered rides
from the cymbal to the more complex principle
thumbs through intervals, strummed up gliding visuals
quick eyes can be critical
to recognize forever in the fleeting temporal
trying to bring some permanence
compared to what level?