#9 WHISKEY WAVES, SURFIN’ GOD
Six feet of me happening just like they said it would, can’t breathe but the lights won’t quit
For good without an option to awaken and go about the business at hand, just #FuqJam it
Perfect worlds come around once in a blue moon, keep on dreamin’ and never got #Woke
From the first to the last revolution of star dust, Karl Marx’ perfect world of bein’ so broke.
Punched in the guts and lost my wind, couldn’t breathe in or out, no way to get oxygen in tea
Can’t get the carbon CO2 out of me, it’s stuck deep down in my DNA, in my psyche, my Thing
It’s all of it for certain, right before my senses, eyes, ears, nose, mouth, just a slave in a ring
Fighting the Man, thanking the Man for being the master of the food and drink, nothin’ free.
Freaks of nature, misaligned nucleic acid evolved into a malfunction and dead end extinction
A bid to be or not to be, never the question, it was more like, if I feel lucky today, I’m a punk?
More likely than not, there is no luck at all, it’s the direct control of the inner #Intent to cause
To be or not, alive and kicking the rest of the matter and energy, leftover from THE Big Bang.
Girls and boys come to know what the old folks ignore or forgot, FACT, we’re all gonna die
FACT, we all want to survive except the hopeless ones who are not DNA but rogue RNA of Ra
Ga or Pa or whichever word assigned to the thing itself, the matrix of our wall where we fly
From birth to death, eating and drinking until buried or metabolized by the hunger of Vodka.
From a shining sea to a long river of tears flowing up and not down, to the light, it’s all gone
Like the Singularity of a Black Hole, I found the Way to creep back into the fold, One & done
My father’s grandfathers sent the word and code down through the genome, extinction’s fuss
Persons come and go, expanding from shapes of absolute zero into infinity’s hippy magic bus.
Deacons, high priests & their ilk created a #Bat virus’ on cave walls, dark shadows’ in my pop
Not only are we drunken, high from conception to extinction, nothin’ but the Podunk hip hop
With the ending, the finale that terminates the light coming in from the darkness’ rollin’ rock
All we are is what we travel upon, rockin’ roll forever, ladies, gents, guns fired out of my jock.
Reason and rhyme set aside for a moment in order to extinguish the remnant of death fugues
We can see anything blind men can see, we can hear anything deaf women can say to thrive
Important yet a moot point right after the extinction of the species, country boys can survive
Rats and roaches left to eat in the filthy cities, where overpopulation welcomed black plagues.
by
r j j stephan, i
c. Friday, June 19th, 2020 Anno Domini @ 5:55 AM PST
{ Drafted in a #ClosedDoor #ClosedBorder, my room while listenin’ to The Beach Boys #HITS on youTube link @ https://youtu.be/nZBKFoeDKJo}
FINIS
W.W.A.R.D.?
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