Scars

Basking under a dull sunshine, sublime messages recieved of a brutal kind.
Aureate azaleas under azimuth, to find sanctuary and a good place to hide.
Flowers torn up savagely, under the morning sky gray with a pallid awning.
A boy to pay for his "wrongings", since the crescent moon began yawning.

Incoherent babble emanating from a dirty mouth, a pole in fingers calloused.
Roots clung to mounds of ground, from roses perfect to decorate a palace.
The pole shone silver, torture for a boy pursuing his only one true passion,
sounds drifting from the backyard of the villa reminiscent of titans clashing.

A young girl stood defiantly, in hand a leatherbound version of the Book,
pigtails quivering in fear as her father called brother's hobby devil's work.
Gathering up her last strengths, she charged forward swinging the Bible.
She bludgeons Dad with the Book, pages leaking out speaking of disciples.

The father slowly fell to the ground, revealing thorned stems ripping lips,
she laid against her beloved brother, who had been a inseperatable twin.
She wiped the prize-winning roses from his mouth, looking at her father,
wondering if she should be alarmed by pooling blood, but she didn't bother.

"Your roses aren't evil, father's holy views have always been distorted,"
she cried, sirens wailing down the streets, the beatings been reported.
Tears flowed down her cheeks in rivulets, flowing as she heard the cars.
"It's your one hobby, and you love it...wounds heal, but they leave scars."

Scars

Pain.. Laced with Fear & Regret.. Rage & Anger
To Slander the damn man who.
Opposes my own anthlem.
..I never planned for this.
Like Eminem critiqued by catholics.
Manefest a dazzling land of ambience.
Dramatic canvus of paradice.
From rattled nights to heavy eyes.
Preying for silence.
Preying for rain, to drown the sound of teary eyelids.
Just reminders, of this curse, in my verse.
In my words it gets worse I'm a person who works.
& prefers to release anger at any man who deserves it.
Nobody escapes my personal verdict.
Merking ya heard me?
With a middle finger lingering while I'm spitting.
Lyrics per minute ...quick to diss all of my critics.
...Fuck the business!
I'm just in this for chedda to make a living.
Free mixtapes what I'm giving, Hip hop the cultures spirit.
Never told to live it...........I do for love thats in-descrimate.
Infinite, intimate, innocent but scarred on large percentages.
Look at the market, the wack have it mastered.
& Underground cats simply complain
Cause their cd sells at a bargain.
With half the hype, half the promotional shows.
Asking when were supposed to just blow.
CEO's over the phone, talking nonsense.
Its obvious with this poverty rocking us.
Leaving scars in our brains.
..Ink stains of the word fame.
Its arcane, the way the game is spread out.
The theorys in it..
But eternal learning is what keeps the worlds spinning.
Lyricists live it.

For real, as rappers, its easy to get caught up in the bullshit. But after all the rain & the pain, after all the scars of the game.
Ask yourself what brought you to rapping in the first place.
Its that love for the music.

Originally Posted by Kein Witz Why the fuck did you post this in Elevated Front Lines? Neither of us have over five wins.