IN THE GARDEN OF EDEN, BABY...I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU!
Inagadadavida baby, you know it's true, got hung by a jury of peers, a thing itself phenomenon
Where you're from you're blind faith hopin' for a free walk on wild side of a princess' eggs' DNA
Out of your control, your pretend will to power is a mere loan on advantage, one high IQ quest
Evolution without any committment from a divine thing without form, no 1st 2 people incest!
On a cross, crucified or exiled to the desert for being a miscreant, an evil genius, just a wee kid
Matter without any phantoms left over once it dissolves into the goo of soylent green koolaid
Poppin' a mitotic divide into billions of knock-offs from the original One & monkey on my back
It's soft but ain't too soft, it's a trip of blind cult of the blue oysters and clams from godsmack.
Apple sauce made from the apple tree grown out of the apple seed that appeared out of gods
If not gods then WTF will happen when we all die, no valhalla or cielo-hades' hounddog bloods
Wonder is in the bread that grew out of the grain, the sustenance of that & the H2O made me
I don't speak for anyone but myself, it's my inheritance from my grandfathers & #TheWives, si?
Movement that goes underground for the final six foot plunge, covered with metal or star dirt
Philosophical suspension of reason and rhyme, to a living moron hung up on the screamin' flirt
Bums & junkies get behind the counter to be budtenders of the candy, vaccinated apothocare
Profits to pay the taxes to the powers that be and everybody in the state and county are happy.
Anything alive that isn't dead can't be eaten, nothing can be eaten alive, it's gotta be dead meat
Beginning with the mother's milk or the formula of animal lactose full of vitamins & mineral ilk
Not of this world yet of this system of being a dot in a blazing blast of brightness in a pope's seat
Until death do us part, but why? I thought my personality, my consciousness survives? It don't!
Killers are creators of the things we praise and mock without ending until we take one last gasp
Trapped inside the 208 bones, we all are, you're really nothing more special than the dead ones
Out of the angels' city or the old dukes of York, coast to coast it's cast upon broads & the chicks
Unknown as hush puppies walkin' the dog with my yoyo, occultists' spirits who got exiled licks.
No saints and no damned souls that have karma to dream about forever, in the end, it's dead air
Food for thought is scarce but leftovers of freedom's fridge will shame you on a dance on a pole
Brooms will sweep your arse away like a wind storm in the blind eye of a cyclone, a typhoon hit
We're the walkin' Clarences and Clarices who get swallowed by alien hunger's suck into a hole.
Not cool to be the original mortality's disobedient culprit, couldn't leave the apple alone, thanks
Now here and now, our rewards and punishments depend on code revolution of Earthly red dirt
Come on man, evolution or special creation in a garden of paradise, somewhere way back when
Now here we are left to guess, educated or random choice, you stole cache, infinite's Cat Den.
by
r j j stephan, i
c. Mercredi, September 22, 2021 A.D. @ 11:11 AMPST
{ Drafted while jammin' to some @BigSmo' #DirtRoadCode link @ https://youtu.be/XcmK_kHpx88 #KinLetsRock #TwistOneUp & some @IronButterfly #Inagodadavida link @ https://youtu.be/UIVe-rZBcm4 & #EndOfTheInnocence @DonHenley https://t.co/sFCWzEQXdO?amp=1 }
F I N I S
W.W.A.R.D.?
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