Wiser Than I AM
Posted: Thu May 12, 2011 5:11 pm
I turn to this pen to make amends to make unclear make some sense,
at it again I get tense its a mechanism of defense,
by the tip of this ink I leave suspense at the tip of the fence,
Its a sense, call it my sixth or seventh, call it straight call it bent,
look it up, find the page, start from the index,
this wordplay with verb play call it a jinx or a hex,
visions of images of respect I reflect on these projects,
I project my tongue will intersect with a few ideas of your own you only object,
to object is to want to correct so I detect the means you have the means to connect,
and I reject the possibility you have the non-ability to neglect,
this situation you're in these ideas you didn't inject,
its the ability to feel emotions gives you the stability to suspect,
its our imperfections that give us the directions to perfect.
life's a book broken in sections we refuse to dissect,
and excuse me if my alter ego gets a chance to interject,
but if there's an end shouldn't there be a cause and effect?,
isn't there a reason why we get the chance to be checked?,
cuz if checkmate was all that we had with all do respect, I'd give a fuck about today because tomorrow doesn't seem to take an attendance check,
so cash only and reap the benefits through the blanket so ever loosely knit,
if to prevent the events that solidify the presence prevent us from cementing the legacy we intend,
we should only pretend that we are content with the life that we rent,
and if I meant half of the percent I've rhymed in this content,
I've made it this far in this extent it's been an event from where I will go to where I have went,
from what I've thought I've seen to what I hoped I meant to enemies and friends,
to pick up all the pieces odds and their ends I commend myself for seeing in these lens I've been sent,
fools look to tomorrow, tonight, is made for wise men.
at it again I get tense its a mechanism of defense,
by the tip of this ink I leave suspense at the tip of the fence,
Its a sense, call it my sixth or seventh, call it straight call it bent,
look it up, find the page, start from the index,
this wordplay with verb play call it a jinx or a hex,
visions of images of respect I reflect on these projects,
I project my tongue will intersect with a few ideas of your own you only object,
to object is to want to correct so I detect the means you have the means to connect,
and I reject the possibility you have the non-ability to neglect,
this situation you're in these ideas you didn't inject,
its the ability to feel emotions gives you the stability to suspect,
its our imperfections that give us the directions to perfect.
life's a book broken in sections we refuse to dissect,
and excuse me if my alter ego gets a chance to interject,
but if there's an end shouldn't there be a cause and effect?,
isn't there a reason why we get the chance to be checked?,
cuz if checkmate was all that we had with all do respect, I'd give a fuck about today because tomorrow doesn't seem to take an attendance check,
so cash only and reap the benefits through the blanket so ever loosely knit,
if to prevent the events that solidify the presence prevent us from cementing the legacy we intend,
we should only pretend that we are content with the life that we rent,
and if I meant half of the percent I've rhymed in this content,
I've made it this far in this extent it's been an event from where I will go to where I have went,
from what I've thought I've seen to what I hoped I meant to enemies and friends,
to pick up all the pieces odds and their ends I commend myself for seeing in these lens I've been sent,
fools look to tomorrow, tonight, is made for wise men.