about
New version by Comb, of this song from the PROSPEROUS - THE BRAINCHILD album
lyrics
You are a middle aged, mid-evil, medium rare, mainly minimalized cranium, swimming in my aquarium, containing a rare remedy of a rythm covered in lithium and delirium..clearly unaware of the surface and it´s whereabouts you´re drowning. Golden rings and glowing things aint able to shine or give a glimpse anymore, through the fog you chose to build on perishable foundations, reaching tall without concidering destinations, totally devastating, you found a pathway to the top of a hill without no sharpened skills ..You better re-write your wills?I´m giggeling while I´m writing this, cause you were the one in a limo questioning my team, on a constant quest of.... cheap thrill, fullfilling of.. someone else´s dream, bathing in cream, sooner or later you´ll come serene, eXpanding backwards..in lack of words to describe the bold relation to your actions being untooold.Your distorted eyes crawls, personifying niagarafalls, I have to break your walls into parts, because you´ve broken to many hearts. I´m a cyclone being customised, looking exaktly like one of your steppingstoones
Meet me in the dark of the night of your selfcreated crossroads, seat me in the spark of a light in a wealth-invaded shipload. Look me straight in the eye and read my silence..forget about time -Rookie aint it a lie I´m needing a licence..to crush your rhymes? x2
"for each of a man´s sins a demon awaits" and this one generates...a total destruction of your utterly, outer....in a selfinflicted relatiation kind enough to explode outside of your bodyparts..I´m doing it for the arteries, flowing out of my energy..connecting the so-called enemies, to the citizens of the planet earth..in a rebirth..of a society of variety needing no boarderlines, being drawn by a..conservative past, believing in looking glasses and breaking outcasts. Broadcasting the capability of your machinery..like it´s ment to be. Eventually making me think about suicide, when scratching your record..but it skips..wandering forward..to the next track..giving extracts..of a tomorrow not neccesarily being about who got money to borrow? Pondering elsewhere..following a hunch, being fully flared,wildly aware of the negative sides of wallowing in selffulfilled prophecys.I´m sligtly in the right mood to enlighten your fastlane..give me a torch and moondance to the beat of my heart moving slow.Frame by frame in a glanse, proceeding your start soothing foes.
Meet me in the dark of the night of your selfcreated crossroads, seat me in the spark of a light in a wealth-invaded shipload. Look me straight in the eye and read my silence..forget about time -Rookie aint it a lie I´m needing a licence..to crush your rhymes? x2
I know your building on cubicles ..and colourful qotes the man wrote. OH you´re doubtful, You´re not "giving a fuck" like 90% of your rhymes say?.. ..Close your eyes and realise....your alterego´s digitalised, your rollercoaster ride to fame had a final destination, facing yourself a singular being divided in 3 parts..cooperating with the main goal of perfection of somekiiiiind. First you got the body, solely looking for a new experience, next to the ego playing a roll of being unsatisfied when it strives for more. And then you got the soul, containing the everlasting heritage straining out of historical achievements ..of the universe, we´re part of. You chose to believe in flavours leaning back on the latest flare..opposing your health by winning, driving in cracks leading nowhere...It´s the end of the road and I came to reflect your story...refilling the cavities..you´re wondering why you´re floating clueless, and crew-less, I´m leaving you knowing how a part of yourself probably knew this.
Meet me in the dark of the night of your selfcreated crossroads, seat me in the spark of a light in a wealth-invaded shipload. Look me straight in the eye and read my silence..forget about time -Rookie aint it a lie I´m needing a licence..to crush your rhymes?..x2
credits
released May 31, 2012
Comb & Prosperous
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