My dreams just sound like la la la
Could I be the voice of the poets?
Would the predictable elders let me in?
I’m not saying I don’t respect them
But they seem to conform.
We need some change in writing.
Not everything is about rhyming.
I could give a fuck that the morning
Was colder than a polar bears toes
Or that it was as hot as Obama in the hood.
Lets abstract from the obvious.
Open up your third eye.
When I look in the mirror it’s bloody.
But I guess that means my bloods pumping.
My eyes are dry but my heart is still bumping.
My friends are in the other room still bumping.
They wipe their nose and keep the music bumping.
If they’re lucky they’ll find a lady to grind
Because they’ve been up on the grind
Trying to stop their teeth from grinding.
Is this your idea of a hero;
Someone who still goes out for a smoke in below zero?
Traditionally speaking, no.
Creativity thinking, maybe.