Même si les emcees m’aiment pour ma zik, in a tweaked out twilight I’ll be kicking it while they sleep. Something in the cosmos caught me off guard and it got my head all spinning. Akin to venom, economy got me to dance to the wrong rhythm. Stopped wondering who would shoot a John Lennon because I’m innocent. Kick me in the throat and knock me down. Fill these lungs with smoke til they say I’m safe and sound. Rearrange clouds that make faces at me until I may say “wow” I need a getaway vacation with a getaway rental car and some heavy medication. Either way, it’s about 2008, and I’m about to break down and steadily losing my patience with you. You a little delusional, confused and used to it too simple with a truth like Crucible exclusive view from the back of the pews to the Jews in Jerusalem, truthfully a two bit Muslim youth in America with too much booze in him. And the proof of my muse is a useless unamused putain de conasse de merde the international crack whores won’t translate because they don’t care, either that or because she’s not dead, and only I can see the way she grooves when she moves her head to my music. I’ve hung on to the clues as she loosens the thread and I lose it. In consciousness I’ve hit the snooze already ready for bed. Please bartender, tell me what the correct damage is. I’ve seen it written down now in two languages. My advantage is offering adjectives to starving savages at the lavish parties where they meet, but I’ve been moonlighting now as a writer (I think) waiting to peak. The landscape is decidingly bleak. So I’ll be kicking a tweaked out twilight while they sleep. All the alarms were carefully ignored. You know sleep (no sleep) never sounded like this before. No sleep never sounded like this before. And along the floor bodies lay where bodies tour on no sleep. No sleep never sounded like this before. I want to be on the road with a bottle of Jack Daniels and a backpack full of roman candles, but I’m not. I’m at home with a guitar hero about to drink another rum n’ coca cola cherry zero. I’ve seen smoke signals in moments of local insurgency and America cloaked in urgency with US currency currently falling faster than the sky. I used to think that I was able to fly. Now I’m selling my dead grandmother’s Ford Taurus to repay the debt of a plane ticket I thought I could once afford, but I was overly confident because no matter how young I’ve learned that it’s not safe to travel in times of war, which I’ve certainly got inside of me and like Iraq it’s bad for sure. It smells like somebody put oil in my heart and I’m just tap water to my core. You know sleep never sounded quite like this before.