The Opposite of December...

Ok, another one done. I actually just finished writing for the second track which was produced by MuseSick. The track is titled “Warning” and the flow is so weird I have no problem posting the lyrics because the delivery is almost impossible to figure out.

Warning

Wingtip to wingtip; I can cover every aching need for man to be obliviously subservient; unequivocally obsessed with a superiority complex and misconception of self. Blessed are the forgetful and even more so the forgivers that will ultimately decide to pass judgment on the sinners. I will not cast a stone; I’ll align my second chance to coincide with the coordinates for the new game plan and subtle codes. Line the pockets of the blood stained promise gently wrapped up within a robe. Troubled by the body that posed yet another issue but that’s just how the story goes. I suppose we can trace it all back to a long winded autumn in the hunt for red October to smoke out all the margins. But I’ll patty-cake my troubles into juice by demand and sell it to the masses just to watch the waves dance. Let this be a warning. Let it echo off the walls to every soul within listening range that a new day has come and I’m not sorry. We had to cut our losses, sacrifices were made.

Rose with a sickness, down for the cure, ready for the cause of the quick and warned. Hand on the top waiting on the second God breaks the hour glass filled with grained confessions.

What controls us doesn’t always have a need or a purpose. It has the right to refuse service to whatever doesn’t serve us and hurdle other urchins to the curb and observe what makes us nervous. Still not meeting demands although now some what typically enhanced in most ways you’ll never fully understand. I clap both ends together to make strands I can twist in a twin helix; implanted ‘til you feel it. Generously wilted, the petals fell one by one to form a new life for the phoenix. If my feathers weren’t heavy then we’d take off in an instant. So I sat down to pluck them all out, hopelessly winded. Let this be a warning. Let it echo off the walls to every soul within listening range that a new day has come and I’m not sorry. We had to cut our losses, sacrifices were made.

Rose with a sickness, down for the cure, ready for the cause of the quick and warned. Hand on the top waiting on the second God breaks the hour glass filled with grained confessions. Let it all spill. I won’t shed a tear. Not a word was spoken as to not break the ties that barely held together my loose leaf carcass pinned up on your wall; such a beautiful surprise.

Let this be a warning. Let it echo off the walls to every soul within listening range that a new day has come and I’m not sorry. We had to cut our losses, sacrifices were made.