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letra de i wrote this with a crowbar - time

i swear i feel the spirits enter when the pen hits the pad
i swear those scars made me stronger every time i got dragged
i learned the secret art of serenity staying calm in front of my enemies
i learned to love my real friends and forgive the ones who pretend to be
i learned that doors to new portals open when your push on them consistently
when you develop new eyes that can see vibes you start to move differently
when you train you can accomplish the impossible with effort minimal
free your mind and gain control like dr. octavius with his tentacles
i hold the mic like a relic my skull’s a stardust bone helmet
this industry’s full of puppets, cop loving pedos like elvis
record execs pedaling percs and guns then they tell them to sell it
f-ck em all, i don’t just say it, i scream it and i yell it
i’m not just talking bout rap, i’m talking bout pop, rock, and country too
the labels are pushing racism and alcohol hidden in the whisky blues
they sell data and invest in weapons manufacturer’s i thought you knew
divide and conquer fueling conflict that leaves us feeling used
fight your uncle on fedbook the narrative is much more than meta
posting for dopamine to feel better we’re lonely pixel heart collectors
while forests get cleared out they mine the earth of her treasures
thermometers popping, weight on my back from the atmospheric pressure
walking on glass but i’m hopeful cuz there’s divinity in being broken
i couldn’t find my emotions until my heart got smashed open
art is a dark path in the woods, art is a war with the unknown
it led me to the soil of my soul, i watered seeds that were ungrown
buried thoughts became compost, i found them in a coffin of grief
i wrote this with a rusty crowbar the nails creaked with relief
i learn from the mushroom, the crow, the alchemy of the fallen leaf
detritus becomes life, i reanimate decay when i speak
i fell down a spiral of shame i saw my inner critic and paralysis
i surrendered to resistance and finally discovered what balance is
the painter has to face the canvas, the writer has to face the page
you’ll see they’re both mirrors you have to face yourself unafraid
the mundane leads to the sacred, vortexes to mystical places
so i keep walking paulo’s path knowing history awaits us

- time

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