Sunday, March 31, 2013

leaning against the wall outside the club

here i stand on the street
rapping off a neat beat
tapping off with my feet
tightly saving the seat

for the king, with his crown
the best meter in town
more imperial than feet
are the words i don't eat

i just pick at the bones
and avoid all the clones
they're the rhymes that i've heard
heard again, they're absurd

it's the dirt of the word
like a cheap, plastic bird
in the mouth, it's worth less
than the sound that you heard

so i'll change what i'm saying
it's the game that we're playing
it's you wanting to think
and my wanting to sink

all these bombs that have failed
to explode, to have nailed
all my dreams to your mind
in full colour, make you blind

yes, i want them to sink
into you, but they won't,
so i'm calling it quits
once i cared, but you don't

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