Don't lock this motherfucker, I'm sick and have like six loogies caught in my throat...so give me a fucking day to recover, between running to the bathroom to spit into the sink and coughing fits. You fat bitch.

Status Quo

Swirling atoms whirling, whirring machines speaking o so monotonous,
sonorous silence prying closed eyelids, expands pupils dilated in hiding.
Hello there Summer, beckoning to escaping students with a sultry smile
impregnated with the squandered time of adolescents, always crying over
what we call nothing, something coming from the minds insistent humming.

Joy gives birth to Autumn, which, with sober breaths, watches the plafond
labeled the Sky, scattering blue, so discerned as the color of man’s anguish,
whose folly calls sorry to the glowing crater defiling the face of Hiroshima.
and so the trees shed their leaves and swing imperceptibly, nothing hanging
but just another angry accountant with the notion The Gate looks like a noose.

Mining diamonds from veins of listless bronze, squeezing out impurities,
Notoriety flourishing when the bodies of a family tree are hastily buried…
under cleverly sewn snowflakes or layers of our recycled layers of learning.
Winter, deemed to be nature’s fury, casting flurries of snowballs and smiles
of children enjoying their vacation…hey kid, death is just around the corner,
but what does it matter to us? Leave it to those with the duty, call a coroner.
It matters now: Ma has reached dotage, the government wants her in a box.
She was such a free spirit, so caring but also daring,
a bird soaring overhead for its justified evening snack to share with
its suffering family plagued century after century by calamity by these so-called…
advances.

Oh wait,
I forgot…it’s still Winter, with its blizzards in their symbolic dances…

Smiling cowards, soon cadavers, cross the street to reach the Other Side…
How ironic, but not as much so as a labeled liar not telling another lie…
But I forgot…that only occurs when you’re caught inside the canine’s eye.

Each pessimist guesses each treble clef has a flaw, every step is naught
but another descent down a stanza, and the future is simply more mystery,
watched by the connoisseurs, our conductors of misery.
Where’s our Spring, the Fountain of Youth, deserved by the experienced?
It evaporated along with our world when Phaeton crashed his dad’s chariot.

Reap what you sow; we’ve sewn a sweater for the Reaper.

No links?!... CLOSED.

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..The Council..
7 Day Theory

You should hurry up and get links cuz the multies and vocab in this is shit. Kinda sound like Old Eminem. But still its nice as shit. 9/10. Rtf on a OM in thats linked in my sig.

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Project List

The Classick Mixtape Vol (8/18)
Age Of Consent Mixtape Vol 1(16/16)
The Classick Album(2/16)
S&S Express E.P.(1/10)

Lot of back to back shit. Stay tuned.