Verse 1 (Pastense):
You don't see it? Don't look down
It’s opposite the cement / The past shines a beacon
A time when / from where the light reaches
Pierces the firmament / opticals process the heavens internally
Wilted or unfurled / the former frees
I'm the wings of a bird before a storm at sea
For me , it's hard to move forward
Stuck in a shell / taking turtle steps
Stuck in a well / hitting a wall
Hard times
One Nine Eight Two burners
Faded to hard lines / don't stop for park signs
Live keep swimming / dark binds with light
I'm a shadow with shark spine
Sit on stoop / the street lamp flickers
Vine climb brick wall / red cup liquor
Eyes rain salt water / thoughts flow inward
Abyss pitch black, vast
Walking in circles with my last lit match

Chorus (Dan Dillinger) (x3):
Granite, planet, falling from the clouds
Landing on the shoulders of the most, the sick and proud
Blocking out the sun rays, so some days it's dark
But embark on spreading heart and there's still hope within the art

Verse 2 (Skech 185):
Chewable air halos atop the glut of humanity. Gutter tongues stuck in the mouths of the children killing before their wings leave. So how does your desert god explain a hemorrhaging planet of ex slaves that trade in excess and brain chemistry? Envision these obituaries under pressed flowers in bibles. Survival is an industry! And viral or facsimile of a “Paradise Lost.” Reinforce glass ceilings. Now let’s see what these upcoming screams will shatter. It seems a “feast or cancer” between the kings and every home. Bitter grandeur unevenly spread across a grid. The sicker they answer! Like “there are only so many cemeteries.” The Twentieth Century was heavy! It’s cracked their neck on nudging an avalanche. Folding the flags matching a millions ways to bury inconvenient truths. Roots ensnaring themselves within the shells of fallen leaders feeding strange fruit. But, perhaps, these are just fading thoughts of a war hawk half blinded by the yellow cloud of yesterday.