[Clayray]

Pan-handling jester with face boils that fester
who's arms out for pleasure when I gather all your coins
nicknamed the Collector.
Hiding out in this frightful house, trying to find peace of mind
everything is quite now, I wish I had a lease to sign.
Tattered trench coat draped over my stout body
eyes peer into your soul & when I speak it sounds godly
shattered glimpse of hope pour from the stories I told
about the glory and gold, how I battered the mold.
Casted away from my masters place, I was the right hand
the left got jealous and told the mind lies it didn't understand
so I was severed, flung upwards to the world of now
I was pouring out, crying on this tortured ground.
feeling cornered, wow. thinking how can I bring hell on earth
I swell in girth, ironic how I clean streets but I hail from dirt.
Ambulating through blood of victims, would Jesus wash my feet?
as redrum spreads & floods the kitchen, I'm having secret thoughts that creep
watching my blood bath'll have you wrought in your seat
open your 3rd eye it's blurred guy, observe what I taught you to seee