Saafir – Bent

i’ve been down this corridor –

before you enter you have to bring

back the creator of winter damn,

too late i’m spoiled, i need the napalm

i got it, i shot it in my left sector,

blew up the timing device on the reactor.

time shifted i had to remold the floor

the foundation for creation – mate’s blend

the pleasure dome into another roam –

a walk stalked nightly by the ogre

that’s rarely sober. but there’s no tracin

i see the place in the flow. i’m beyond dawn,

no i’m not in the lawn under pawns –

don’t rest, never possessed stagnate magnets.

i never pulled slits lips wit no braille skilled eyes –

balls through eyesockets. i’m currently current

currents of electricity; they can’t get wit me

invisible to the retina half – way reality part limbo.

a nervous laugh while ya climbin through windows,

never spin ho’s on merry-go-rounds,

be the ground level for ghouls, schools of fish,

victims on a hit list me like geronimo on a pratt –

tackle patt tacklin patterns addin in seasonings, flavor.

no false teeth for beef, catapulting fingers to light

switches so you can see the real, i feel the tension

my sight twitches – i’m bent.

second scene: i’m the star in a step show

around corners, the coroner’s office;

where my rep grows. i’m on some sort of drug

like the president, it’s evident that i’m noid,

a little bit of pizza – the riddle gets deeper.

i’m lookin for outs n ins, stolen isotonas,

the gloves, the bout begins three jabs on a transport

it’s a sport for me to take another life on landing,

branding wit a prattle prod designed by god.

it’s my job to resign frauds,

the odd is against you got a degree in me,

so i know that i flow, credentials are essential –

it’s blasphemy the type of shit they be askin me.

i don’t feel the vibe, abstract art the veal

doesn’t heal this deprived stomach from a plummet.

swinging on a duet with the bullet.

i never pull out for suspense – i’m on a bent mission.

jack cousteau couldn’t take it no deeper –

i’m a resident in davey jones micro-locker

holds the phone, foamin at the mouth:

mad dog, a taste, never had hog i’m droppin

the scrooge, makin fools hit the log – axe it.

i seen it beneath where the cowards hope

trembled sleeper see if you can find the lost

treasure through measures in bars – i’m bent.