RAP SHEET

The door handle is cold, a poor scandal unfolds.
My hands shake, a plan breaks, a grand mistake takes hold.
Every siren is firing, wiring my brain with iron.
I’m tiring, perspiring, inquiring why I’m lying.
The pavement is talking, the enslavement is stalking my steps.
The basement is mocking the placement of all of my debts.
I can’t eat, the damned heat is rising up off the street.
The plan’s weak, my fans leak, I’m crashing in total defeat.
The lights are too bright, and the nights are a fight with the ghosts.
I’m losing my sight in the bite of the harshest of hosts.
My stomach is turning, the plummet is burning my veins.
I run it, then shun it, but done it is all that remains.

Thinking I’m sinking, the linking is inking the page
Drinking the stink of the shrink in the cage of my rage.
Sweating, fretting, letting the setting get in my head.
Betting, forgetting, the netting is spreading the dread.
I’m tripping, I’m slipping, I’m gripping the edge of the ledge.
The ripping, the dripping, the flipping of every pledge.
Catch a breath, match the death, scratch the mess out of the sketch.
Patch the stress, watch the less, fetch the blessing for the wretch.

The pride inside denies the ties of common kind
A mind refined defies the lines the law designed
To take a life to end the strife is why I'm blind
The snake-like knife, a stake in life, to find my mind

The wall talks, the hall walks, the small clock ticks
The law stalks, the thrall balks, the hall-lock clicks
A cold sweat, a bold debt, an old threat sticks
A fold-bet, a soul-set, a gold-debt kicks

I see eyes in the alleys, no disguise in the tallies of pain.
The lies in the valleys are flies in the rallies of rain.
That look of pity is gritty, it’s shaking my city to dust.
It’s witty and pretty, a bridge to the pity I trust.
I’m dropping the act, the stopping of fact is a lie.
The cropping of tact, and the popping of impact is dry.
The theory was trash, a weary old dash for the crown.
The query was rash, and the teary-eyed crash took me down.
The way I weigh the cost.
The weigh-in, way I lost.
The real eye sees the lie.
The real I seize the lie.
I’m walking to the station, talking my liberation at last.
No balking or evasion, just locking the operation of past.

2941/7500

I’m built different, the guilt isn’t felt when the will’s efficient. A real vision, a steel mission, killed every still suspicion. See, most men are ghost men, just postin' and coastin'. I’m chosen, I’m frozen, the potion is motion. It’s simple math, a crimson path to bypass the aftermath. I skim the graph, dim the laugh, and trim all the lower half. The rules are for fools and the tools of the sheepish. I’m cool with the ghouls, and I’m schooling the weakish. I justified the homicide of morals inside my pride. A rougher ride, a tougher hide, with nowhere for truth to hide. I’m a king in a ring full of strings and pretenders. A thing that can bring all the stings to the senders. The door handle is cold, a poor scandal unfolds. My hands shake, a plan breaks, a grand mistake takes hold. Every siren is firing, wiring my brain with iron. I’m tiring, perspiring, inquiring why I’m lying. The pavement is talking, the enslavement is stalking my steps. The basement is mocking the placement of all of my debts. I can’t eat, the damned heat is rising up off the street. The plan’s weak, my fans leak, I’m crashing in total defeat. The lights are too bright, and the nights are a fight with the ghosts. I’m losing my sight in the bite of the harshest of hosts. My stomach is turning, the plummet is burning my veins. I run it, then shun it, but done it is all that remains. Thinking I’m sinking, the linking is inking the page Drinking the stink of the shrink in the cage of my rage. Sweating, fretting, letting the setting get in my head. Betting, forgetting, the netting is spreading the dread. I’m tripping, I’m slipping, I’m gripping the edge of the ledge. The ripping, the dripping, the flipping of every pledge. Catch a breath, match the death, scratch the mess out of the sketch. Patch the stress, watch the less, fetch the blessing for the wretch. The pride inside denies the ties of common kind A mind refined defies the lines the law designed To take a life to end the strife is why I'm blind The snake-like knife, a stake in life, to find my mind The wall talks, the hall walks, the small clock ticks The law stalks, the thrall balks, the hall-lock clicks A cold sweat, a bold debt, an old threat sticks A fold-bet, a soul-set, a gold-debt kicks I see eyes in the alleys, no disguise in the tallies of pain. The lies in the valleys are flies in the rallies of rain. That look of pity is gritty, it’s shaking my city to dust. It’s witty and pretty, a bridge to the pity I trust. I’m dropping the act, the stopping of fact is a lie. The cropping of tact, and the popping of impact is dry. The theory was trash, a weary old dash for the crown. The query was rash, and the teary-eyed crash took me down. The way I weigh the cost. The weigh-in, way I lost. The real eye sees the lie. The real I seize the lie. I’m walking to the station, talking my liberation at last. No balking or evasion, just locking the operation of past.

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