@Tri - I like that your raps have such substance, as opposed to some of the superficial "artists" out there who rap about their ego's content with bling and bitches and whatever.
Here's another song/poem I finished up about a half hour ago.
The Final Meeting
My eyes are red and my ears are burning,
strange signals run through my head.
My heart is yearning, I still feel the corkscrew turning
over all the little things she did and said.
Black holes are out there, deep in space
and I can feel 'em stretching out my brain.
The road is rumbling in my chest & I wonder
if all them women really think me so untame.
Just crawling out of the next grave pocket, I know
it'll never again quite feel the same.
Just touch me one more time, honey baby
knock me straight off of my chair.
You know just what it's like to transcend time,
don't ya darlin'? Even when I haven't gotten there...
I can still smell those sick daisies burning,
straight from your kitchen table and into the air.
Cigarette burns on my fingers,
there's snakes in your hair.
Your red lips chapped & scarred & thick,
but just like always they
never fail to stick.
Somewhere out there, I know the roar of the world
could never match the roar inside here.
Our savior has come too late, it's just our fate
and it's neither here nor there.
Clouds form upon the ceiling,
and I'm feeling angry like a clown.
Life was supposed to take us up,
not drop us straight down,
but here we are...
and I wish we could act as if we didn't care.
Ahh, but our eyes
feel just like weapons when we stare.
This is our final meeting,
we'll care not for friendly greeting.
Let's just get straight to the point,
it was always meant to be fleeting.
Our conversation burns hot
and limps from line to line.
My head is a smoking barrel
and I think she thinks that's fine.
I put on my Nixon mask...
she just smiles sly and I never say goodbye.
Thus life in its ways will go on beatin'
with the pulse of my scalloped heart
and the cruel hands of her time.
We can still sense our wicked vibrations
rolling on through this dusty insect city,
rolling through our strained relations & our greatest lies
rolling on through this insane parade of flesh and crime.