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letra de taking charlie on a glass elevator - werd (s.o.s)

can we reset this reality?
i don’t believe in the big bang
(i don’t believe in the big bang)
check…

fly in a sp-cecraft,
i craft fae words,
no witchcraft, it’s which craft i choose to surf,
audio waves is my way to purge,
all those earthly thoughts that hold back us.
huh, elton musk eat your heart out,
never spent a billion but a million thoughts i drew,
open up doors, in my mind too,
seeing lives and a goddess that i once knew.
moving. on. up.
past the stars, quasars, n such,
see metal birds fart fire to thrust,
from a glass elevator still moving on up.
then it comes to a halt,
first new planet i see has all ya’ll
earth point 2, but few points to point out,
everyone at peace, no priests or bad news.
(nah)
hmm, guess technology flew,
no investing in wars, so they cured us all,
no poor at all nor no lack of food.
d-mn, kind of what we should do (yeah)

in my head is a journey
need no map or survey
just need thoughts to budge me
elevate evolve i’ll be back by thursday.
in my head is a journey (huh)
need no map or survey,
elevate my mind and burn me,
organic vessel is only what huds me…

‘sons of scotland’

[texture]
the caduceus is a möbius strip, verbs trip
off the tip of my lips, anatomically
accelerator mass spectrometry
air guitar, anatolian shephardry
bird flu raps, electronica, as i riff vividly
infotainment, k!lling fields,
post-traumatic misery,
non-euclidian trickery.

i’m in this to kick it wickedly.
(as if you can’t tell).
everything about this place and this life,
making me duller than a b-tter knife,
was gonna glance at the stars,
but f-ck me this gutter’s nice.
(this gutter’s pretty good man)
(this gutter’s nice)

the trace of faceless ages wasted,
just another ten percenter,
part of generation atheist,
turns out all my heroes are problematic rapists,
like neil degrasse tyson,
inappropriate on sp-ceships,
can’t take the pace,
hold my drink while i paint my face like a f-cking racist,
f-ck your friends and who you came with,
(god d-mn)
might be a recovering nihilist,
but i bought a ticket for the last utopia,
werd said ‘bring some rhymes along’,
so i brought a cornucopia,
apologetic polymath,
black hole, heir of the cursed
a mulatto, an albino,
out of the sky, into the dirt,
let’s see who goes down first,
the biggest motherf-ckers get burst,
cassandra with a prophet’s caution,
weaving metaphors in torsion,
reverse engineer the pattern out,
from the distortion,
i’m too busy listing all the f-cks i won’t give ’em,
f-ck ’em if they can’t take a joke, or won’t listen,
texture and werd shine like black diamonds dripping,
from the thickest gold ribbons, (gold ribbons).

this broke aesthetic is broken britain.
what’s up man, how you living?
(how you living?)
peace to the black lantern clan.
sons of scotland
papillon on the beat.
(salem)
this is not pop

- werd s o s

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