Party, party, party until faces become spinning images, voices become echoes, and the lights go out,
Party people go home, its all over and the fat lady just sang her loudest ballad, and coincidentally no one could recite its lyrics execept you
This is your love poem,
Every last one of you who cultivate in the lifestyle of vain celebration, sensual insenuation, and a conversation that shall never live past what he or she said,
if this is the essence of living, quite simply we dead
This is your love poem,
The lyrics, we ignore but never question
because why express "y", when everyone's doing it
This is our love poem
We all hear the hottest tracks from that fat womans last EP, in the form of an older person singing, "Remember to always think twice"
Suddenly we all were yelling back, "Yo DJ, hit the next button on this bitch!"
Young mamas, like Rihannas, rewinding their conscience by reinnovating what Mama said, until it became Mama seh, mama sah, mumaku sah!
Don't STOP the music, just skip it, if it gets too realistic,
Men, becoming morally femiNINE
Watching them,
Do themselves, as if we were never once raised to support, protect, and provide
all materialism, and emotion no longer hide,
Bitches, chains, svedka and gin aside
this is our genocide,
Throw yo motherfuckin' morals in the air
and feed them to the fire like youre stuck in there,
6 o'clock dont stop no morning, so don't stop yo mourning
when you see sunrise has come to sundry that once tear washed soul, you carried on your back,
but is now replaced with that Overprint Ogio,
You worked up 80 bucks, and sold ya soul to,
Mark Jacob vision, New Era intentions, Chromed out slaveship, sponsored by Cadillacs finest,
You'll buy this
Magazine that advertises multiple generation demises,
so now the book of life is but a trifled pamphlet, left just outside
of a waste basket, with its message crumbled up and torn
quite like mankind....
This is our love poem.
