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letra de missing person's report - the pablo collective

[verse 1]
talk about the beginning
and the end of your vows
constellations tell you facts f-cker
truth furrows your brow
talk about leaving silhouettes lying down in your wake
prepare for an all night party and keep everything you take
join the club, i’m the leader, take a seat, i’m your reader
lost your way, i’m your seeker, ride the newly sun, i’m your empathetic
speaker, out my headphones hear your voice but you ain’t round
out of body ever present leaving all the players for your incandescence
a wholly automatic automated celebrated
totalitated connected and hydrated
fountain of everything, drink from the waters and receive nothing
tell me there’s ideas there, i need the mind of opening
my faded logic erases the temple of sanctum in the wheat field
my bleeding heart builds the wright construction of the unsealed

[verse 2]
big bang for the finisher, bad words for the dishes
only take a minute for the sh-t to hammer home in a world where our blood’s counted in kilo bytes and ohms
tell the man you’re ready, tell the doctor you’re steady
they don’t know that they’re plotting an attack on the people that arrange narratives with thumbtacks
i got the plague, do you want some? you loathe it but in the end you’ll succ-mb
the futures past the last corner are you ready for the battalion of progress retentive coroners?
i don’t understand it, we tried our best
but to some consistency in ideas is what’s worth a test
gratis events when the creator feels generous, and still gets f-cked by the ones that who exude malevolence
the death of the author, the deaths of the artists
everybody’s dying but the cash is rolling in to stop the writer from crying

[verse 3]
blue and red, calling out the songs of the pure breds
187 and a 11-44 at the place of residency of some guy in his 20s
he was shot in the back sitting at his desk, with the chair on the ground and the fibers a speck
cops got there there too late, he didn’t leave a trace, the suspect got nowhere and the man without a face
scattered around the room were his paintings and records the only thing that got untouched was his safe full of more h–rds of money, diamonds, checks for the bank
a rolex watch, and the only thing stolen was the keys to his think tank
on his desk was a computer filled with social media accounts each one of them relating to a steady follower count
he made music, released it to the public, they listened once and then proceeded to tell him to shove it
you had your chance, now get the f-ck into your lane
stop f-ckin’ around or we’ll be forced to bring the pain
he said okay, and did it again
next thing you know he’s dead in the end
police left the place, and gave up the chase
left the body there to rot away and stink up the place
a year later the custodian opens his door
and finds a small compact disc where his body was before

- the pablo collective

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