Face to face with the forest I saw how troubled the waters had become. Democracy was turning into a hypocrisy. Rumors about migration could be heard through the Congo drum. The prehistoric prophetic elements were returning to their roots. Battle Dress Uniform… cut from the fabric of a poem. The kind only heavens army could recruit. Slave songs were sung along Freedom Trail. The Lake of Brimstone was dry to the bone. Still, we navigated through hell. Looking back at the Captain's logs we left on the ship. Lost control signals as the history pages flipped. The pages on rituals and sacrifices I bookmarked, as indicators of my ancestors alphas and omegas. I watched them stomp in the dark. Scattered in the four winds. Followed by a pack of wolves. Praying for the day they'll ascend again.
TheMagnificent, O' Merciful. Bring our consciousness back up to par. Without our intellectual properties becoming plunder or spoils of war. Save us from the moral bankruptcy we've inherited. Transfer a love that conquers all into our account. These requests have been processed and extremely imperative. Broken happy endings will find there way in the dirty linens UNTIL we repair the narrative. That never ending love story. Rhyme schemes recorded over LIVE strings. A dramatic love ballad. An alluring allegory. Our loyalty tested by pledging allegiance to the flag. Trail ride after trail ride. In search for a cohesive sequence. A chapter to provide adequate supplies to prioritize our saddlebags. The battlefield covered by an enveloped vendetta. No mother likes to receive a dead soldier letter. So, Stop The Violence. Hands Up, Don't Shoot! Let him breathe through the racial profiling. UNTIL we have our own historians the tale will always tell of the hunter. "Wade by the Water", tucked in vocals of Zion's Daughter. Harmony pitched a new mantra. Facial expressions automatically adapted to the auxiliary. Crafty renaissance tools, to sound off my drill team moves. Turning Art into ART-illery.