I wrote this at eleven fifty-one, 9 til midnight/
A new day starts this at darkness, how can that be?/
How can I see if I dont first A and Be?/
A elder once tried to say to me that in a way degrees
are lost doctrines/
With our souls on the block auctioned/
Silently I'm talking with the Lord thru a Mic Chord/
I'm talking with myself/
But how can I be a Master when something as simple as
asthma/
Enslaves me in it's disaster/
I pass the surface and ask for worship/
As my task if furnished with ups and downs/
Walking thru corrupted towns from my destructed crown/
I abducted sound, sealed it seven times in a sacred
section of my spirit/
Where only I can hear it, you have been caught in
slums/
But my Father so feared this world, he gave his only
forgotten son/
A way to exist when I didnt even exist to him/
Its hard to resist the sin but the mist is thin/
As our melodic kiss begins-I end where I begun/
Our lips meet and tongue, at eleven fifty-one/
Inspired by:?
© 1999
