Die When U Die - Jehst

Every dialectic shapeshifts a makeshift shield of hatred

I spit fire, quick fire, twist kaya

Roll a roach from a ripped flyer

Tip toeing over ego trip wire

Soft steppin on eggshells as hell beckons

A bed of black rose petals on my twenty second

With twenty seconds on the clock I kept many guessin'

A game of death threats met with defiance

So I bring stones for the riots

While the right side of the brain extends through computer science

Flicks fictionalise our lives

In alliance with the Queen in the core of the hive

Breeding parasites

The wise read and analyse the scrolls

Stolen souls dissolve in alcohol

Master drunken pole

A cold-hearted defence in this dungeon hole

I hold hope for the globe in a closed palm

Locked in a gold heart

Lost and emotionally charged

I chart progress through this pain staking process

Elimination of the grotesque (no less)

This overblown mess left grown men stressed and suicidal

Cyanide drips from the vinyl

My vital signs fade, I’m trapped in a pessimist’s mind-state

A frozen emotional ice age

My words form pictures

Jigsaws built from torn scriptures

A warped image, a collage of small figments

Inter-related, creative with raw English

I walk with born sinners who talk business

Subs and permanent fixtures

Medicine man sippin elixirs

Wettin my lips and lickin the rizlas

Listening to enemy transmissions

Sittin' here pickin the splinters out of my flesh

The fresh script inker

Indica stick sticky fingers

Balanced on the brink of drinking binges

While friends sink syringes into their skin

And it could all end in an instance

With no one to discipline the infants

Walking the ledge I stay nimble as ninjas

My pen nib inches closer and closer

The ghosts in my dome stay closed in a coma

Crows overhead twisted as the trail we tred

Most failed or fled, ended up jailed or dead

But never me

Eyes in the back of my head for any enemy

Ready for them backstabbers

Suited and booted on this black Sabbath

Truly polluted by the pain I paint the blues on a blank canvas

We’re all judged by the same standards

Saints, gangsters, to base heads in St. Pancras

It’s plain madness

My brain strains to make sense of

We blaze ten spots

This games deadlocked