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letra de the hunt - 137 (us)

all the ways of man are golden
but he’ll weigh their hearts

i’m taking
stock of my enemies
for sake of the manifest
voyaging to land of papyrus and anapest

i’m baking
for the festivities
the kind of pie the rest
of people barely have the kind of tongue to test

artists, bring a bottle of your rum, i know the quill is hectic
if you are a poet i will call it -n-lgesic
people really want to come and question my devotion
know what i sacrificed for ethеreal pr-ck?

my gasoline doesn’t comе with a lubricating agent
so you don’t want to know what it takes to oil the pistons
i really don’t have a singular source of my motivation
but, cool, i captured a couple hundred thousand people’s attention

pick nick, for the christmas
but pick me, for the feast
’cause every one of my brushstrokes
is a picnic, at least
and i’m leader of the litter even though i was a runt
guess that happens when you wean yourself so early for the hunt

won’t keep awaiting
pain and fears to fade
’cause they don’t
evanesce, i guess they’re here to stay

hey
save your stiffness
for the rigor mortis
pen in the womb
can’t apologize you barely took notice
if you’re interested in knowing my place of business
take a gander above and you’ll see the sky is my office

don’t call it a pro phase
keeping the pro, leaving the phase
knowing the pen got enough ink for the rest of my days
i’m only new to you, i’ve been writing since my tighty-whities
and i’m constantly in development, you can call me prophase

love feeling the cold upon my skin the shower
so i can wake up in the morning knowing goals to devour
you see the key to all of the greatness isn’t chasing the power
but rather finding a way to make the minute stretch like an hour
i’m paddling in the waters of thought, i’m nauseous
i’m swimming through my enemies, fighting the sharks and crises
cautious, like a fish in the murk of the marshes
only time that you’ll hear my sign is pisces

on the edge like tower lire
sacrifice so pen inspires
is that not the artist’s plight?
bathing in the kerosene to feed the fuel to raging fire?

i can’t tell if i’m losing my mind, or finding it
’cause the deeper in the troubling pit that i get
the kind of place so unlit, you barely see what is writ
the more that i can feel the ease, when i write and i spit

won’t keep awaiting
pain and fears to fade
’cause they don’t
evanesce, i guess they’re here to stay

i feel i’ve made from rhymes and notes
my very own sweet home
i’ve come to shore, and burnt my boats
’cause i don’t fear the bones

- 137 us

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