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I am you..
Soaking up your love like a summer's tan, and eating your light like the Sun, greedy as ever, I'm constantly called the Homeless Son.
The parable of the Prodigal sung, I needed to return back to the beach where momma's All Essence-In-OUt -and- around beautY was won.
Competition bells rung, started in last place, ended the race in the front, how many times do I have to tell you that my words created you, it was I who stirred your punch, It was I who injected poetic dope into your lunch
Deep fried, finger licking, verbs dripping, two lips pressed together, we made some vowel commitments, A-E-I-O-U and sometimes Y, I often ask my spirit, is it really possible for my love for her to die!?
So I try, so I strive, to keep a one of a kind mind, aimed to keep that holy and sacred love alive, when I fall short, tears fall, I cry, angry with myself until they dry. My gifts, Our father will take away, if I ever lied.
Playing with your emotions and your brain, no never that, this is no game, I leave that to the lames, that pierces, shatters and breaks hearts of God's divine daughters, boy I'm telling you, his wrath, his pain, he formed you in the womb and he'll still cast away and eliminate your name.
Mathematically and Karma induced, True love answers all Math problems, hate and disrespect sends the wicked to comas, causes you to sleep forever and die not in Truth.
King Qadar Dwon'
