I sit and click my fingers, set a beat to.speak to - spit rhythms dug from dirt and forged deep within the sinews. This mantra is my own, I loose a tongue to testify towards the setting sun that I'll be meditating on the weight of all that glittery gold that's won, to test whether the worth was it, whether sleep can finally come. I sit and click my fingers, set a beat to speak to, and wish peace to all my brothers, sisters trapped deep within the tombs.

Demons are just Ghosts that carry a cross, Christ is a light only lit by the lost, Buddhas the shoulda-woulda-coulda done better, awake at night making the heart strings heavier.