Dissecting a Profane Mystery (feat. Nigma & Split Eight)

Posted by Erik Moshe on Thursday, March 7, 2013 Under: Rhymed Verses

Dissecting a Profane Mystery

Enigma    Vulgar     Split Eight

I'm a cloak and dagger vagabond who shadow box in blackness with assassins thoughts
Last attacks have stopped, it's re-enacted mummification the way you wrapped in gauze
Planned combat with bars have trapped me
Use the hand of God to crack the padded lock
I'm past Islamic, stand in chalk and ink a magic psalm that plants a massive bomb
That latch to thoughts, evolving fast beyond the passive pawns and terrorists who stand in awe
Go grab and stab a happy heart till beats are bland, so bleak that raptures target memories
You're reading texts so deep that each could test the depth of seas cause E's the best in breed
Complex emcee, I hold my breath to breathe
Out-step the deadly feet of leprosy to rep the 3
Pushing prison pens, defeat means death to me
These bars don't cage me, nay they set me free
Conceived in thirty three degrees of darkness
Harness evil shards of steel and carve
With scimitars, I cleave apart the trees in Eden's garden, weaving barkskin sheets of armor
Separate species, artist with the heat of arson's
Beast of carnage, sharp as the teeth I'm barring

Gentle people, pardon me for being partially sephardic
Forgive me for spreading mayonnaise on your soul mate's gonohrean arches
Life's an entrapment, and Sean Connery is heartless
He brought a knife to a lapdance during the bondage plea of Marcus
Aurelius, keeper of Rome, leaders of men or treasonous clones?
Hiveminds are interconnected stadiums, the Colisseum was a piece of the mold
And honestly, this bloodlust policy is just a leech in my lobe
coaxing out the most active senses sensing toxicity in civilian clothes
Modesty is hideous, subconsciously make pilgrimage to ghost towns
where confidence is transparent with each rhythmic sentence that's composed now
Limestone harbinger, Saxon shrubbery - pinecones, artistry, ask the Tuscan breed
You'll be the first to die a flowery death and the last to suffer me
Why attempt a late blooming career when most rose gardens are plastic fuckery?
Sound the drums and heed the flung debris, smoking alklaline laced tobacco
The pineal gland expands every time you touch the outer rim of nature's asshole
CIA forsaken Castros populate fields of judgement, but I don't even like to listen
Never forget 9/11, nor the law that genocide forms the price of biscuits
Drink your elixirs, cause every alchemist makes important life decisions
The lord of night's a Nordic knight who soars in morbid mite commissions
As sunlight pours out of his solarplexus, a corpse of bright hibiscus
All the ingredients that simply make a normal sight sadistic

On your mark, jetset, finish. Sip champagne from minarets in Minsk.
Kidding. Live by the gram and the instant. Smoked colors drip optical illusions,
Outfox McCloud with a cloaking switch flick cuz I'm a barrel roll enthusiast.
Switch, sideways flaring ginsu knife, hacks your shady moral penumbra. Splits you in eight hazy directions,
The corporate enema machine's fact sheet? Apathy, Contra physics and a list of effective sedatives.
Bred ten tenants deep like a logarithmic function. Fuck your edge in broad appeal.
Sepcious zeal wrapped in active product placement. Doubts, contorted hate, riddle-me-an-atheist.
I court the lucid dream of safety, death's forty night revolution. Pregnant influx of numbing uselessness-
Till then I'll smoke karmic butts under neon signs for imminent proof requests,
like whose culture will we pollute next? New Zealand, they're too sick of pretty environments.
Death's got my number for the fiftieth time, and ive a debt receipt for eons.
Catch me sleeping on it, stereophonic teaspoon of Zzquil and Keystone Ice party tonic-
rhymes are my anti-klonopin, ride Janice Joplin's sarcophagus red- 80 higher the limit.
Calvin and Hobbes skiddin visions- the slippery slope to conscience on the dike's Radio Flyer coffin.
At least when we died it transmogrified me to awesome.

In : Rhymed Verses 

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