Verse

Cold in the house
Like, uhh
You know I got the heat turned off
Like I ducked down a sidestreet dodgin cops
‘Cause I don’t think they’d appreciate
The smell of tree I break off
That’s still a metaphor for the temperature in the home
Weather many storms
I keep roaming
But I’m ready
To appreciate the calm
It’s all so surreal
Make me forget how real a deep breath feel
*breath*
And debris from the highway littered the windshield
When will wake up?!
When will I wake up?...
The insomniac asks the shadows cast every night
Between moon and pavement
Blurs between noon and midnight
Heard the words of worry but in a hurried state I didn’t wait to listen
Tryna be a lil more patient
Tryna be a lil more patient
Tryna be a lil more patient
Aim
And just
Hit my target
See
I can play the cards I was dealt or throw out the deck
Rebel against elements of a genre I don’t wanna be limited to
Too often they try to box you in before coffin
But I box em out
Like Rodman
A God-Man
Might cause a log jam in your river of conciousness
At least I give a dam
Cash waves at the riverbank
Can I live like I’ve been resurrected?
Because I’ve been dead
Celebrate old year’s eve
Timeless music from a traveler of many planes
None of which plain
White walls just waiting for some color splashes
No more lashes out at the way things are
Just make art and watch the clock
A conflict of hand-eye coordination
No Jacob & Co.
Moreso Jacob Perkins
I’m cold! But not hot opposit
Watch a pot boil
I acknowledge you got some dirt but not soil
Acknowledge you got some dirt but not soil
Got some dirt but not soil
Born not royal
No king! By human-construct
But if you ain’t learn by now, money ain’t the object
Many lost souls find themselves here
Don’t contest the context of your conquest
And that self-portrait might familiarize
Real life rhymes off-beat to keep you off-seat
Don’t sleep

Motif (Recording)
*inaudible*
I found this picture of you
Found a picture of you
*inaudible*
Um, I’ve been couch surfing
I’ve been sleeping on couches
I’m not... this is not my city

Verse II
This is not my city just the place that I stay
This is not my body just what I use to paint
I lay awake
As tides break waves against the dry island in the sky
This is not heaven but here is like nowhere else
Yet eerily familiar
To describe the unseen can be a crime against the eye’s perception
But you may never view this landscape
So I must attempt to stand straight and translate
The often broken language’s underdeveloped explanations
Could create undervalued expectations
Tryna break free from those motherfunking expectations!
We always moving in some direction
Escape to Trøntønømø Bay when it gets heavy on Urth before levees burst
Seeking weightlessness
And untimed lengths of patience
Shake the anguish of bad measurement
The art of entertainment taught by introverts close to unheard
Words that can only
Complement the silence
Religion that don’t compete with science
Find bliss in the
awareness of ignorance
The selfish hail from where they sell fish
Selfless heal free of charge
Break free of the bars and not be at large
Close but no cigarillo
Sketchbook used to fill up Field Notes but ideas got bigger
Not fearing brief sobriety like when I was invincible
Embrace unintended contradictions in an unpredictable existence

Motif (Recording)
This is not my city.