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Verse I
I’m just about done, but I’m so apathetic,
and dealing with the hardest part of an artist that really get it,
unedited non-repetitive etiquette for the mind,
and blatantly less competitive rhetoric in my rhymes,
at times I like to battle the shadow that don’t exist,
express a need for slaughtering cattle but then I miss
the point of why I do it, what would I do without?
the invisible person that I’m always talking about,
now I’m switching the style, I got emotion conveyed,
and I’m a little more in tune with what I’m trying to relay,
just a little bit more honest in the things that I say,
and the result is a temporary high that’ll never stay,
it fades, motivation proven quick to diminish
and suddenly everything that’s significant’s never finished,
now you can cover the blemish, project your positive talents,
but everybody knows a real artist will lack in balance,
that’s the challenge, self reflection,
cause if you never really move in a direction,
and you never really make a decision,
you have no identity or face they can envision,
Mr . Nobody, with 37 masks,
recognized what it was and without the looking glass,
so now we’re falling fast way beyond the rabbit hole,
with inspiration’s invitation clearly incompatible

Verse II
Remember it all,
remember the feeling you get right before you fall,
just how perfect and intricate every detail and flaw,
but when it’s gone it don’t exist except for you to recall,
but the image is poor, the memory pretty vague,
and every positive sensations that you felt had a plague,
all that’s really displayed now is your lack of desire,
the illness shatter your dreams, laughed and put out the fire,
you’re a liar in regard to every line that you’ve written,
finally concluded that you’re faking it when you’re spittin’,
your personality’s split and with passion this intermittent,
I can only hold invalid all the love that I’m gettin’,
so here’s a wall i’ve been hittin’, been staring at it for months,
all I want to do is finish a project for once,
looking for it it blunts, bottles, pretending to care,
but the bottom line is it’s something you could never repair,
but I’m there so I wait, for it to hit me again,
provoking thoughts that’ll require me to pick up a pen,
till then, I’m just a slave to the way that I feel,
going patterns in the cycle knowing nothing is real….damn


from Welcome to the World of​.​.​., released April 25, 2015



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