[Stacked male harmonies] [Fast melodic sung-rap, not straight talking rap] [No autotune] [Bar 1] The city breathes in sighs, beneath the bleeding skies of neon and industrial rust, [Bar 2] we sweep the crushed illusions down into the dust of history, where ancestry speaks [Bar 3] in hollow tones. The asphalt leaks a stream of faded dreams into the gutter where the youth [Bar 4] are searching for a missing truth or validation. Every cjorner has a story told [Bar 5] by broken men. The winters grow so cold you hold your breath just waiting for the wheels to turn [Bar 6] and change your luck. We live and learn to navigate the heavy traffic of the human mind, [Bar 7] it’s hard to find a pocket lined with gold that isn't stained by someone else's misery. [Bar 8] I cast an eye across the scenery and see the blocks stacked up like giant dominoes [Bar 9] about to fall. The wind just blows the daily news across the pavement like a tumbleweed [Bar 10] of propaganda. What we really need is clarity instead of all the synthetic noise [Bar 11] that drowns the spirit. Older boys are teaching younger boys to keep their armor locked [Bar 12] against the world. The clock is never stopped, it keeps a count of every single breath we take [Bar 13] before we wake. We make a great mistake by thinking time belongs to us, it belongs to none, [Bar 14] we just a fraction of the setting sun that casts a shadow long across the monuments [Bar 15] of glass and stone. The government's defense is high, but human value dropped so low [Bar 16] the markets crashed. The cash is made to flow through hidden pipes beneath the marble office floors, [Bar 17] while outside on the steps, the wars are fought for crumbs, a endless cycle in the dark. [Bar 18] I try to find a spark inside the wild park of human nature where the shadows play. [Outro] [Instrumental][End] Chapter II: The Internal Blueprint [Bridge] [Instrumental] (Count: 1, 2, 3, 4) [Bar 19] I walk away from what the critics say, my spirit aligns with something heavy in the air, [Bar 20] a frequency that’s rare. I stare into the empty page and watch the ink begin to bleed [Bar 21] like ancient scripture. I don't need a script to tell my soul exactly how to speak its piece [Bar 22] or find release. I seek the sweet decrease of mental clutter so the vision can emerge [Bar 23] above the noise. I’m standing on the verge of something grand, a blueprint written in the stars [Bar 24] but mapped in scars. We break the iron bars of limited thought and let the language stretch its wings [Bar 25] to see what kind of truth it brings back home. I roam the desert of the modern intellect [Bar 26] and pan for gold. I recollect the tales told by grandmothers who knew the weight of sacrifice, [Bar 27] they paid the price. You got to think it twice before you throw away the wisdom of the old [Bar 28] for shiny things. The diamond rings and strings of vocal praise are nothing but a passing phase [Bar 29] that fades to black. There is no turning back once you surrender what you are inside the core [Bar 30] to buy the store. I want for something more than temporary comfort on a sinking ship, [Bar 31] I bite my lip and let the anchor slip into the deepest water where the currents pull [Bar 32] the heavy tides. The truth resides in pockets never seen by those who only watch the screen [Bar 33] for validation. Every generation faces giants that they have to overcome [Bar 34] without a weapon. Just the steady drum of heart and chest, a rhythm that can never fail [Bar 35] to keep the pace. We tear away the veil of false security and look the monster in the eye, [Bar 36] it’s do or die. We under cloudy sky but still we march toward the place where rivers meet. [Bridge] [Instrumental] Chapter III: The Infinite Math (Count: 1, 2, 3, 4) [Bar 37] The pavement hot beneath our weary feet, the metric shifts but still the pulse remains the same, [Bar 38] it’s not a game. We playing for the name written in the book of life before the world began, [Bar 39] a master plan. I measure what I can with imperfect tools, but find the math is far too deep [Bar 40] for human minds to fully keep in store. I open up another door and step into the unknown [Bar 41] where wind is blown from every cardinal point. I smoothly joint the phrases so they loop and knit [Bar 42] across the bar. The studio light is lit, the tape is rolling while the culture holds its breath [Bar 43] for something real. I feel the sting of death in every compromise an artist ever made [Bar 44] to get ahead. I’d rather walk instead through narrow valleys with my dignity completely whole [Bar 45] than sell my soul for a platinum plaque. I’m bringing back the architecture built on substance [Bar 46] and design. I walk a fine line between the sacred geometry and street philosophy, [Bar 47] it’s property of the Most High. I watch the sky expand until the barlines disappear [Bar 48] into the wind. We at the journey's end but just beginning to understand the weight of words
