I devote power into the sands final hour.
To begin life's journeys is like the top flight of a tower.
No windows or holes for rays of light.
Simply yourself and the echo of footsteps.
Your personal morals echo debt from petty bets.
Bar's cage in repent for no hope of regret.
Causing the towers flight to consist of a single step.
I Conject tussles, rustled togethor.
Bricks for the foundation to outlast any weather.
Evolution at it's finest, minus the false thoughts of better.
From accurate feather's into motored propellars.
Primitive agriculture to modernized superstructers.
Were no longer animals but behave as monsters.
Honor and respect died with the Al-Capone Mobsters.
Were a poem in the Shadow of leaves.
Miyamoto Musashi Styled death still breathes.
Yet it's depeleting like earth, to tritium leakage.
Were neighbors who want to see, but cant cut'a'hedge.
Nothing but beings who cant see ahead.
Instead were alive, breathing, but simply act dead.
Focus, look ahead; jog through the fog.
@
Plot (copped your verse nigga) @
Mike Wrecka