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letra de cave paintings - replicator (of futurology)

your morality only loses to an imp-sse, mate
it’s pretty flimsy when you twist up love and hate
caught up in this game
staring at the wall
just completely unaware that behind you lies the world
i’m inspired by my arrogance
i freestyle this sh-t, f-ck a narrative
life’s too comprehensive to make any sense
like cypher said, i’m no defense to justify my ends
or for that matter my means
still tryna figure out if my will is free
sometimes i sit and wonder what’s my philosophy
mandatory philanthropy’s hard to pardon my day-to-day
i’ve the audacity to call people [?]
when i’m also a product of pep talks and punishments
and my influence, i’m either [?]
an intermediate known for spittin’ this gorgeous vomit
really were just amalgams of freethinkers before us
stood on giant shoulders but we’re staring at the floorboards
and not to let me know more
but we don’t validate that sentiment with educated minds
aggravated, [?] is always in for the divine
but i thought i said that god is dead
and it’s not a stretch to hedge bets, interpret less and progress to the next step, yes
that said, we [?] with a [?] of patience that is literally breaking
caught in stasis in content to burn out
one problem we’ll face, i have no doubt
that we are unapologetically f-cked
stuck in a genetically modified rut
screaming, “who are we?” have we pushed past the point of no return?
are we really gonna sit here and watch the world burn?
and for what? a cheap laugh?
it makes great entertainment, this machiavellian [?]
all this indifference is sickening
indicative of our ignorance
imprisoned inside the role of the observer
another life, no beginning and no end
and this animal brain is demanding i stay stupid
but i’m tryna push through it and look to the future
cultivate empathic understanding
amygdala holding my reactions ransom
and it works in tandem while i try to refute it
my body keeps working while i declare that it’s useless
so prudent, every statement, basis
a school life shooting with a syllabus that’s aimless
my syllables are aging, this rhyme scheme’s f-cked
i find no love, i think i may be done, uh
no luck left, pure muck bred with no contest with this fire spat
[?] is we’ve gone past the [?]
we’ll be sitting on the edge if the world was flat
but this world’s in my hand and i use it as a [?]
see false flags make money off of demands [?]…

- replicator of futurology

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