Slike - Kendi

Izvučen iz konteksta, uvučen u vorteks

Orkestra uma dok vučem svoj potez

Smrt igra šah, kocka se sa životom

Tražim protivotrov da konačno sklopim oko

Jer sam jebeno budan, hronična insomnija

Hodam poput zombija, mozak kô da sam Zodijak

Serijski ubica u pojam (Ne, ne, čekaj, čekaj, kako to da kažem…)

Ubica vlastitih snova

Kada svane zora zaspim kô sova u svetu pastelnih boja

To je ovaj ritam, nijanse ovog bita

Il' je samo moj trip, pa se pitam…

Da li vidiš instrumentale u bojama?

Da li verujete u slučajnost brojeva?

Ja ne, jer danas je dvan’esti jedan’esti

A kazaljke pokazuju na dva’es' tri i dva’es' tri

Spooky shit, ništa nije slučajno

I namerno sam ovaj bit isključio

Još smo u fazi atmosfere

Ovaj bit je sivo crn, maslinasto zelen

Boje zrna kafe, preko tamne pozadine

Što se šunja kao crni panter

Ujed crne mambe, držim toksin u ustima

Ali pre nego što pljunem ja je osetim pod prstima (Koga?)

Ova matrica je suva

Al' publika je polugluva na oba uva

Zvuk je suv kao pustinja

Percipiram ga služeći se predjašnjim iskustvima

Postajem isfrustriran, jer publika je slepa

Pa kada slikam kao da pričam u vetar

Ponekad progledaš

Tek kad zatvoriš oči, zatvoris oči

I u tome je draž

I ne traži ga, samo će doći — savršen zločin

Kad ubijam bit, podari ušima vid

Do daljnjeg slušamo slike, jen', dva, tri

Četri, pet, šest, sedam, osam ujutru

Brojim svaki sat, svaki minut i sekundu, jen', dva, tri

Polokove mrlje, Rafaelov anđeo

Karavađo i Mikelanđelo

To su Pikasove muze, Degaove balerine

Ovo je muzej, ovi tekstovi su galerije

Dugo budan do rano u zoru

Il' u drugi sumrak kako je zovu

Kafa i pakla na stolu, simptomi nervnog sloma

Zvukovi hiphop-a i neosoul-a

Dnevna soba i ja slušamo Roots-e

Dok čekamo na usrano Sunce

Više volim noć, slušam zvuk vukova, huk ćukova

Put je dug, začarani krug pun duhova

Majk je moj kist, matra moj list

Pratimo instinkt i patim od istih

Jer noćne ptice spavaju danju

Pa noću progledam jer Mesec mi pravi putanju

Upadnem u delirijum, postavim teoriju

Da je zemaljska kugla nečiji terarijum

Planiram bekstvo iz ovog zatočenistva

Pre nego što započnem išta

Uzimam novi format — monohromat i sepia

Cepam i sečem, lepim i delim slepima

Vajam rime od gline i plastelina

Crtam linije po rasterima flow-masterima

Zvuk je suv kao pustinja

Percipiram ga služeći se predjašnjim iskustvima

Postajem isfrustriran, jer kad bacam rime

Kô da bacam bisere pred svinje, jebem ti…

Ponekad progledaš

Tek kad zatvoriš oči, zatvoris oči

I u tome je draž

I ne traži ga, samo će doći — savršen zločin

Kad ubijam bit, podari ušima vid

Do daljnjeg slušamo slike, jen', dva, tri

Četri, pet, šest, sedam, osam ujutru

Brojim svaki sat, svaki minut i sekundu, jen', dva, tri

Polokove mrlje, Rafaelov anđeo

Karavađo i Mikelanđelo

To su Pikasove muze, Degaove balerine

Ovo je muzej, ovi tekstovi su galerije

Pesnici su vojnici na noćnim stražama

Lopovi što imaju zavidnu moć opažanja

I zato sve što drugi ne vide ja preslikam

Preko tvrde podloge, jer i S Kick-a

Je slikar, s njim preko rep snimka hoću da

Menjam noć u dan jer postajem zloćudan

Impresija, radjanje Sunca, zora

Zona drugog sumraka, sezona lova

Na slova koja spajam u remek delo

Sliku u kojoj reč nije hiljaditi deo

Leonardo, ako matra je platno

Autor što outro pretvara u sfumato

Ovaj outro završim sve

To je audio sfumato

Taken out of context, drawn into a vortex

An orchestra of the mind as I make my move

Death plays chess, gambling with life

I'm looking for an antidote to finally close my eyes

Because I'm fucking awake, chronic insomnia

I walk like a zombie, a brain like I'm a Zodiac

Serial killer in the term (No, no, wait, wait, how can I say that ()

The killer of your own dreams

When dawn breaks, I fall asleep like an owl in the world of pastel colors

It is this rhythm, the nuances of this bit

Or is it just my trip, so I wonder…

Do you see the instrumentals in color?

Do you believe in the coincidence of numbers?

Not me, because today is the twelfth day

And the hands point at two-three and two-three

Spooky shit, nothing is accidental

And I intentionally turned that bit off

We are still in the atmosphere phase

This bit is gray black, olive green

Coffee bean colors, over a dark background

Which sneaks around like a black panther

Black mamba bite, I hold the toxin in my mouth

But before I spit I feel it under my fingers (When?)

This matrix is ​​dry

But the audience is half-deaf in both ears

The sound is as dry as a desert

I perceive it using previous experiences

I get frustrated because the audience is blind

So when I paint it's like talking in the wind

Sometimes you see

Only when you close your eyes do you close your eyes

And that's the charm

And don't look for him, he'll just come - a perfect crime

When I kill a bit, give my ears sight

Until further notice, we listen to pictures, yen ', two, three

Four, five, six, seven, eight in the morning

I count every hour, every minute and second, yen ', two, three

Pollock's stains, Raphael's angel

Caravaggio and Michelangelo

These are Picasso's muses, Degas' ballerinas

This is a museum, these texts are galleries

Long awake until dawn

Or at another twilight as they call it

Coffee and hell on the table, symptoms of nervous breakdown

The sounds of hip-hop and neosoul

The living room and I listen to Roots

While we wait for the shitty Sun.

I prefer the night, I listen to the sound of wolves, the roar of beetles

The road is long, a vicious circle full of ghosts

Mike is my brush, matra is my leaf

We follow instinct and suffer from it

Because nocturnal birds sleep during the day

Well, I see at night because the moon makes my path

I fall into delirium, I set up a theory

That the globe is someone's terrarium

I plan to escape from this captivity

Before I start anything

I'm taking a new format - monochrome and sepia

I split and cut, I glue and share with the blind

I sculpt rhymes from clay and plasticine

I draw lines on raster flow-masters

The sound is as dry as a desert

I perceive it using previous experiences

I get frustrated because when I throw rhymes

Like throwing pearls in front of pigs, fuck you…

Sometimes you see

Only when you close your eyes do you close your eyes

And that's the charm

And don't look for him, he'll just come - a perfect crime

When I kill a bit, give my ears sight

Until further notice, we listen to pictures, yen ', two, three

Four, five, six, seven, eight in the morning

I count every hour, every minute and second, yen ', two, three

Pollock's stains, Raphael's angel

Caravaggio and Michelangelo

These are Picasso's muses, Degas' ballerinas

This is a museum, these texts are galleries

Poets are soldiers on night watch

Thieves who have an enviable power of perception

And that's why I copy everything that others don't see

Over hard surfaces, because of S Kick

He is a painter, I want to be with him through a rap video

I change night into day because I become malignant

Impression, birth of the Sun, dawn

Second twilight zone, hunting season

To the letters that I combine into a masterpiece

A picture in which the word is not a thousandth

Leonardo, if the matra is a canvas

An author who turns outro into sfumato

This outro I finish everything

It's audio sfumato