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letra de dreams - julian jefko

one day, i’ll like myself, you’ll witness me win as i fight myself/
with all types of miscellaneous compositions i write myself/
-ssuaging my sewer thoughts till the pipeline’s smelt/
confidence i have will not be confined to accomplishments or defined by my pompousness/
honestly with my thoughts and where i’m at now’s like an addict in a trap house/
take thoughts in the same vain (vein) till i max out, wantin
to stop but the speed/ of the tracks so fast no that i crash down, overdose and i p-ss out, plus my tactile/
feeling is lost, fainting and laying with the latent content all in the background/
but one day ill escape from here, and move to a place where the doors’ll glisten/
think of the palms of the pale man, my hands’ll move toward a vision/
where my corpse is missing, and i feel respected/
where pursuits of s-x won’t overshadow my darker need to feel connections/
and one day you’ll see me fine with being alone that’s a real confession/
on the same day standing up for myself won’t be so hard, i’ll feel aggression, and spill my guts to heal intestines/
one day i’ll be a time lion, trapped in the cage of a b-ss line/
one day i’ll read all the books i own, even the ones that are written/
in hebrew, and ones that talk of mythical inus, cl-ssics from kings/
privileged and regal to outlaws living illegal, m-n-scripts where immanent evil/
was thought to linger sit with beetles of hieroglyphic paintings/
and move to the hymns of cathedrals, i’ll read like a broken record never lifting/
the needle, i’ll be a kabbalah scholar, quick to the cryptic texts/
decode and decipher what’ll misdirect, amateur attempts any fictions met/
with militias till no depiction’s left, and i show you my proof with no missing steps/
on the side i’ll dig up egyptian heads, and put some pictures on the internet/
one day i’ll perfect my craft and protect my craft like the master emerald/
knuckles’ll clutch and i’ll use my pen like a staff from kendo, piercing/
your ears like a bad crescendo, be able to rap in the slowest or fastest tempo/
when the future me grabs a pencil, he’ll prove that the present had potential/
cause he’ll spit so meticulous, he’ll nail every song to a crucifix/
and nothing’ll ever seem as accidental, his fans they’ll span from the land/
of the uk down to sacramento, i write this verse as an affidavit/
maybe one day i’ll get there i just hope that i have the patience/

- julian jefko

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