[EtH]

21/08/12 - 20 Years Old
The Raven
High in the sky it swiftly flows,
Leading us to battle with shape shifting foes,
A timely feud which sees bloodshed on the rise,
As brute force locks horns with deception and lies,
The raven scouts ahead as it’s checking for danger,
Its beady eyes borrowed by war-tested invaders,
We enter the woods, our weapons jingle and chime,
Each dead tree stands as a symbol of life,
Our boots crunch down upon the twigs and the snow,
Our lips dry and cracked by the blistering cold,
Pity isn’t a vice of our warrior nation,
Each sorry erased and no apology taken,
This inferior race made a mistake in opposing our clan,
Battle-axe at the ready, no one’s holding us back,
The oaks all around, choose to block our view with,
Crooked branches as they watch our movements,
The raven starts to circle, we’re ready to fight,
It indicates where our foes will dye red in the ice,
Our hearts beat onto animal fur, butterflies flap in our stomachs,
But I know that these magic men will be no match for our courage,
Not a man on the face of earth could make a coward of us,
So we charge as the raven glares and stares down from above,
A firm grip on my sword; I am holding it tight,
But when we get to the clearing; there is no one in sight,
An army alone, none killed on this night,
But each and every one of us gets a chill up our spine,
We look to each other with eerie suspicion,
The fog thickens and my soldiers disappear with my vision,
The weakness of fear appears to corrupt my mind,
As I hear blood curdling screams, the trees come to life,
Resistance is futile; I feel cuts like razors,
The excruciating pain a reward for my trusting nature,
I see the raven land with my last possible energy,
Only to see it shape shift and transform to the enemy.



11/05/13 - 21 Years Old
The Magician
This is a story of the most stunning magician,
Who created an act with the most lovely assistant,
He thought the pair were permanent, that they'd designed a life,
And would always stand on stage, staying side by side,
But one day the magician performed the greatest of tricks,
He made his assistant disappear and float away in the wind,
There is no team when the magic starts to drift away,
And this is not something a revealed card could ever change,
He did it with one woman and a bottle of Scotch in him,
I watched it all from the back so I was sort of the audience,
Like an escapist, she had to get out to survive,
Cause he had wrecked their act with his mountains of lies,
A powerful weapon's removed when you're disarming the magic,
There's no disparaging the havoc behind a sparkly jacket,
His love displayed is now thought to be trickery,
Cause magic is never real, it's beyond our ability,
If only the kids watching ever knew it's fake,
Well not me; my outlook is disputed, my view has changed,
It's a relationship cut in two, never being undone,
But I guess that just happens when dad's cheating on mum.



20/06/13 - 21 Years Old
Heaven
True heaven to us, really isn't known,
Where the sun bounces off sands which are rich with gold,
Landscapes so capable of taking breath,
Cutting through a horizon with a serrated edge,
With vast desert planes, which the equator is on,
Backdrops for Mother Nature's conversations with God,
Where each person is gifted their own strip of paradise,
Far from the scenes sold in Heaven's afterlife,
See heaven to me, isn't what's unknown,
Look around, heaven is where you call your home.



15/07/13 - 21 Years Old
The Honest Day's Work
My wife stirs left and right as she sleeps on my arm,
Awoken, ignoring my attention seeking alarm,
A sharp ring that would sting even the hardest of hearing,
The snooze button an apple in the Garden of Eden,
My uniform rests on the dresser with the neatest folds,
Watching teleshopping while scoffing down my tea and toast,
No exactly a breakfast tailor made for kings,
My day starting even earlier than daylight’s is,
Drive, dragging behind me the heaviest eyes,
Park the car and clock in when I arrive,
The boxes are loaded, to the streets I head,
As the sun now begins to pick up its weary head,
Each package delivered by an ordered list,
As moisture lays itself down on the morning mist,
The road at this time; the most deserted of places,
Anticipating the masses which will tread on its faces,
Soon people appear, and the numbers will double,
So the road rests and waits for the hustle and bustle,
Work stands like a wall, when each minute elapses,
It starts representing another brick that collapses,
And when work is done, and when we’re going to bed,
We close our eyes knowing it’s going to start over again.



22/07/13 - 21 Years Old
Breaking off Contact (Done for audio)
It was night. Darkness fell asleep on the skies,
Until it was ripped opened by a beacon of light,
It's image evoked the beating of the human heart,
Earth appears as a firing range for this shooting star,
Blue orbs were echoed by shades of yellow,
Until the meteor crash landed in a vacant meadow,
Police converged, it was a UFO,
Do they come in peace or appear as a mutant foe?
They opened the door to see if any had died,
Only to find out that it was empty inside,
Excursions was held on the burnt remains,
But eventually its purpose diverted to commercial gain,
A once mysterious and unusual object,
Turned to studio project and a movie prop next,
It was released to the public to inherit glory,
Providing a backdrop for synthetic stories,
A ground-breaking discovery, it should be mad and surreal,
But now parents have snapshotted their kids as they sat at the wheel,
This event's impact isn't even acknowledged,
It's just another method for us to be lining our pockets,
One day, a storm brewed, another UFO,
Came down to us, but in full control,
The doors opened, we stayed siting, waiting,
As the heavens held us down with anticipation,
With a face like thunder, it came straight from the night's storm,
The angry scowl was worn by an alien life form,
It seemed disgusted to be leaving its base,
And it looked at us as an inferior race,
It spoke to everyone of a galactic tale,
And a lifelong test, which we could pass or fail,
They would crash a ship, and see if we're credible,
And we fail if we place it on the media's pedestal,
The greed of our race had us viewed in a bad light,
We sold tickets so people could be viewing the crash site,
If we passed, unending knowledge we'd be gaining, however,
If we failed, they'd break off contact and isolate us forever,
Needless to say, greed was our main regret,
And the alien left us...we had failed the test.



25/08/13 - 21 Years Old
Volcano
There’s no smoke without fire, there’s always something within,
And when any plates separate, the eruption begins,
The plume puffs into the sky ‘til none is left uncovered,
Bringing lightning bolts and spawning endless thunder,
Once a dormant disaster, clouds cannot clear the ash,
As lava floods down a mountain of appearing cracks,
A rip-roaring river, and the colouring red,
It’s current occurring from the current events,
The barrage leaves all in its tracks, battered and bludgeoned,
All destroyed but one tree which stays standing above it,
It branches out, until it’s floating past the birds,
To evade the backdrop of a molten massacre,
In a war torn warzone; this tree stands defiant,
Avoiding vicious advances of volcanic violence,
This tree is forgotten as the magma worsens,
It’s roots embedded, yet can’t scratch the surface,
It sleeps next to the hearth but doesn’t take a hit,
Each and every cherry blossom still remains unsinged,
Still remains uncharred, it seems fire retardant,
Keeping out of the flames, and it’s trying it’s hardest,
The depths below are too deep a fall,
And these natural causes are the least of all,
The separation of plates is no reason for this,
So it’s as easy as this;
As long as this tree will exist;
It will reach in the mist to feel the breeze of the wind,
So as Mother Nature collides hard with Father Time,
Despite the fight it stays standing fine,
Like a stalagmite; its remaining a cliff hanger,
Surviving the divorce of its mother and its father.



15/05/14 - 22 Years Old
Bishop's Trout
I tramped through the marshlands, boots succumbing to floating fauna,
With a fly rod cast out to open water,
I would leave the city streets to reach this transcendental scene,
All stood still but for a cool, gentle breeze,
The only tug on my arm, was from the perch that I caught,
When the float plummeted down to the depths of the loch,
This was different, the forceful fish fled as I grasped the rod,
It would crack the logs as it thrashed along,
I’ve seen trout before, I’d never seen it as big,
The line stressed and pressed as I was reeling it in,
It’s weight was a match for my sizeable doubt,
But not long had passed before I tired it out,
From its fin I lifted, water dripped on my feet,
It was different to see such a mammoth amphibian just admitting defeat,
It’s eyes hung lower than the reeds they wade through,
It’s body and face tinted by the dullest grey hue,
It didn’t fight at all, it wasn’t worth the hassle,
It’s cheeks were scarred by accolades of battle,
Every hook that failed, every line that snapped,
Each time it prevailed, but now it’s time has passed,
No resistance was given, it inspired my thought;
Bishop’s trout just wanted all the fighting to stop.




26/06/14 - 22 Years Old
One Phonecall
Grab my keys, wallet and leave as I walk to the store,
My phone rings on the side table as I walk from the door,
Will I turn back, pick up or stay ignoring the call?
I guess they’ll leave a message if it’s important at all,
The air, thick, weighing down on breathless lungs,
As if under command from the relentless sun,
The barking of neighbours dogs drones over my side,
The same reason that last night, I was awoken at five,
As bags hang from the eyes, the sun beats on my back,
Energy bleeding and sapped and I feel I’ll collapse,
I stop and sit on a wall and then I rest and sulk,
Remembering my incoming test results,
Insist I’m indifferent if cancer’s existent,
Indignant, convinced that the mole is malignant,
But fuck it, who cares, I’m barely living my life,
Despite being given the time I’ve no children or wife,
If it’s bad news; it’s bad news and that’s just the sad truth,
It’s past due and I knew that my life has passed through,
Until I get the results, I’ll just grow my own suspicions,
Actually, that’s probably the reason my phone was ringing.
---
Grab my keys, wallet and leave as I walk to the store,
My phone rings on the side table as I walk from the door,
Will I turn back, pick up or stay ignoring the call?
Actually it could be my doctor and then I’ll know the resolve,
Get the phone and said “Hello” to acknowledge that I’d answered,
He told me “I’m very sorry, you’ve tested positive for cancer”,
Speechless, the words were gone, my vocals removed,
“Now I know that it’s true, what do you suppose that I do?”
“All I can say; enjoy the time that you’ve got,
Breath in the fresh air, and live life to it’s all”,
Putting down my phone and wanting to leave,
I left the house and just wandered the streets,
Beams ricochet from the sky and glow on the floor,
The sun smiles on things I’ve never noticed before,
The late night barking dogs, the bane of my existence,
I’d always say I was a victim and that my neighbours didn’t listen,
I didn’t care about anything but trying to mute it,
But what’s barking from a dog living life to the fullest?
I might not have the time left for kids or marriage,
But enjoying my last days? Yeah, I think I’ll manage.



02/07/14 - 22 Years Old
The Broken Chains of Fennesz
Minutes bled into hours until days had passed
Since I suddenly slipped from enslavement's grasp
The markings of shackles disappear from my vision
Their crimson tint fades with my reason for living
Freedom... the idle wish of a dreaming captive
We wonder if one day we'd even have it
I never figured I'd ever have to think to plan it
Never thought of the gameplan if my wish was granted
Can you return to water a freed ship from a bottle?
Now eating in soup kitchens and sleeping in hostels
Where fleas and disease sleep under the sheets
Such a colourless contrast for something that's free
Plates suffocated in slop, the most dreary of meals
Next to fresh food consumed with Valyrian steel
But still I'd survive the slip in the standard I've lived
Had I regained my chance to interact with the kids
I get teary eyed when reminiscing upon what I leave behind
I would teach their eager minds to read and write
Their eyes viewed my presence as a fountain of wisdom
Not an ex-slave that's been reduced down to a victim
Their books wrapped in silk and each sentence I quote
Surpassing the worth and expense of my robes
Their value however... is much greater than that
When they acknowledge my knowledge I gain a way and a path
I feel more like an equal when I focus on the lessons
And yet with no goods to my name, I'm still holding some possessions
But now? Nothing, it's all been taken apart
My cabinets as empty as the space in my heart
Despite being owned and whipped like someone's mutt
I had the love that comes with unencumbered trust
A hound's mission and goal is most certainly service
Yet as man's best friend it is serving it's purpose
So if freedom is choice then I'll seal my fate
Because freedom for me... is to be a slave



… An impatient doorbell …
Unworried she had the courage to answer
An insurance salesman, she was hurrying after
The door creaked opened, “Would you like to come in?”
Her cash kind of with his, it’s no time to resist
He entered, hair slicked back thinking he’s Capone
Stinking of Cuban cigars and cheap cologne
He followed, she hobbled, her aches are hurting her
He plopped himself down on her ageing furniture
The sofa responded with a plume of dust
Particles shot up and mixed with cruel mistrust
A folder he holds with tentative clutching
The space afoul with a sense of corruption
The walls wiped with paintings of big hills and windmills
Anticipating the sale, he couldn't barely sit still
She stood softly and offered a cup of tea to her company
His eyes jarred, reluctantly he said ‘I’d love it, please’
She swooned over tea leaf steam in her tiny kitchen
As our suave salesman recited the most precise of pitching
She returns with shaky hands as tea starts to fall
He stares down at his mug, stained and hardly washed
He holds his drink as she swills her beverage
Knowing one sip down the hatch and he will regret it
Not to be rude, he just aims to sip it
Moving on from the pleasantries, he states his business
He puts his mug down on a table awash with water rings
“Now, let me explain to you what I’m offering
I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s time to do this
I’ve come to your home to sell life insurance
I’d appreciate if you sit back and listen to me”
“I’m sorry, I’m not interested in your pyramid scheme
You come with slimy plots and I aim to thwart it
You’ve only come here so you can claim my fortune”
He knocks over his drink as he would rise to attention
His knees buckle as if under sizeable tension
His sight darkens, he sees the break in his mug
As green liquid spews out as it stains on the rug
“I need to go, what’s happening? What was in that tea?”
“I’m sorry dear, you can’t do that, no one ever leaves”.



27/10/14 - 22 Years Old
The Can for Collection
On the streets I see an old man that leans back,
Relaxed, his two arms marked like road maps to relapse,
It’s sad, a drug zombie that’s rotted and now he’s dead within,
The can for collection he holds had more sense than him,
Those bumps on his arm read failure like he wrote it in Braille,
He’s not even the heroin in his own story or tale,
Does he question his intentions, is there an effort that’s made?
Is he thinking if his children still remember his face?
Or when they fend for themselves, do they hold their own?
Or stay broke at home in their broken home?
Does he recite the nights where he deserted night feeds?
Far gone are the pearly white gates with his pearly white teeth,
But still I like to imagine that there is more than addiction,
That there’s a voice within that still implores him to listen,
That finding what he doesn’t regret is like a needle in a haystack,
And what he does regret is the needle in his frail hand,
Or perhaps it’s the hopes of a fantastical mind,
And I’m pretending that my senses say this man is alive,
He’s dead, face it, the sword’s been dealt,
A hollow body, a distorted shell of his former self,
His eyes locked in a deathgrip with his can for collection,
As in the glare he stares at his damaged reflection,
So if life is a journey, then he’s just walking to hell,
We gaze eye to eye as he talks to himself.



12/09/15 - 23 Years Old
Why Do I Write Topicals?
Why I’d write a topical? That’s something that I’d ought to know,
I guess it’s cause the rapping acumen I had was nominal,
The monotonoish audios that I released were comical,
Inaudible, I write because my Scottish voice was horrible,
I say that to myself, but do I want to rock the boat?
Scared of what I’ll find if I topple all the dominoes?
I read between intentions to reveal a different question;
Are we deceitful when we mention that it’s freedom of expression?
Does it release from me some tension? A meagre way of venting?
A peaceful deed preventing of the features of depression?
Or is it preaching and presenting of a preconceived impression?
The notion that my deep emotions teaches you a lesson?
The insight that inside I know the rights and wrongs,
And when I rhyme along I somehow think that I belong?
Or is it less than that? Was it actually my fate?
When I rattle on the cage I guess my battle skills had aged,
When the day that this was rendered, maybe I surrendered?
Was I imagining some assonance would make me a contender?
Maybe I had reckoned, the day my name had lessened,
Cause I listened in my English class I’d make it as a legend?
I can sort of say it sort of made me want to walk away,
But being honest Abe I wanna make a Hall of Fame,
We treat it like these verses will, become a living journal filled,
We act like it’s external spills of words we feel are personal,
We say it’s why we rap and write but if we could believe that,
Would we join some battle sites and ask of them some feedback?
I guess we’ve all got reasons, of why a person wants to write,
A labyrinth of answers and I guess there is no wrong and right,
Since I’ve had it on my mind the thoughts I had have modified,
This alone has kept me going……I guess it keeps me occupied.




Achievements
Freestyle Forum (Bebo) - Featured Drops (x3)
Real Rap Game - Topical Battle Hall of Fame
Real Rap Game - Topical Verse Hall of Fame
Lyrical Battle Groundz - Tournament Winner
Lyrical Battle Groundz - Topical Championship Winner
Netcees / Textstars - ISTL Championship Winner
Rapbattles - Topical Verse Hall of Fame
Lyrical Threats / Body Bags Ent - Written of the Month
Brick City - Topical Medal
Illest Lyrics - Collab of the Year Winner