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letra de disse mble {your​(​self​)​} (feat. s​.​al) - decuma

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[bridge 1: decuma]
it’s funny
i named myself after a fate and walk with no purpose
and write as if purpose carries me

the existential crisis is never finished, though
so any paradox is welcome

[verse 1: decuma]
i been drafting abstraction with passion
watching my thoughts pass on the transcript
as my sentences break into fragments
i been -n-lyzing the way that a sentient man finds him begging to his own mind
on his knees
just begging for silence
i’ve been dissembling myself
detaching my body from consciousness
attaching my identity to anything physical feels dishonest
i don’t need my body
pardon my french, but it’s revolutionary
ironically i’m not afraid to die, just of dying slow
i tried to find myself in writing, though i learned to write when i stopped trying to rap, and i feel trapped by the status quo

fighting all the versions of me i spoke into existence
broke and defenseless
writing lyrics with a lack of intention
indirect inhibition afflicting my ambition
missing intuition
can’t find my soul in tuition
existing in eternal intermission until the play is finished
i play my part poorly, i wonder if god has listened
last time i chopped it with him, he was timid
that was the only time i’d seen him shiver
i asked him, “what happened?”
i do not need my body!
he said he can’t save us from ourselves
morality has a shelf life
i take in truth like cleopatra takes a snake bite
your ‘tut, tut’ won’t make me right
the only way i learned to tell time was to tell it stop
i drop beats and roll the tracks out, but i didn’t get paid a lot until i opened my mouth and fired
[bridge 2: s.al]
usually i do it on canvas
mad different colors, baby in the background

could you hold on one second?
straight up and down, comic book style, skits fit the storyline

that style of talk

[verse 2: s.al]
clouded, studded with stars
candlelight arms
do you need a special reward
for bearing the torch?
nickname: blue

i lean upon a rock
holding my
it crows

head of a man under my feet
mon ami pierrot

for the love of god, one hundred
for the god of love, i’m coming
from the mother-sea
to the monastery

comets fall.. is that martyrdom?

thrust into the thumbhole
of a palette
painting brutality as a club

i crack a chestnut
seated, wearing vetement
renunciating power
because that seems to be the weapon
seems to be the weapon

[outro)
-samples-
oh, i’ve been around before mccarthy, and i’ve been around before truman. and i’ve been around before roosevelt. i’ve been around as far back as you wanna go if you actually want to go back to infinite principle

it is evident that though there are many people here from every strator of society, with all kinds of degrees and intellectual achievements, it is evident that we have seen something, or we wouldn’t make so much noise!

- decuma

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