Staples

[oats]

maybe it's this city-livin, maybe it's the winter weather
maybe I'm just a foreigner who can't determine if it's better
to listen steady or be pigheaded, shit is heavy written clever
a cracked soul, black hole, my mind's designed for interstellar
rhymes are primed for missions never fully dressed for presentation
so excuse me if this loose leaf gives a fuck for expert delegation
still I'm determined, set for levitation, shouldering stress
too cold to let the holster nest my oldest regrets
so I hold em stretched across my chest, own em and flex
an acumen of Sachs - both Goldman and Jeff

I've learned no man inspires hate like the man who demands love
and the planet's entire weight is a gavel that slams -
plus, too many hunger for a seat at the table, the ravenous land stuck
I'd rather let hunger strike and stay famished to stand up
life's a feast of absurdity, I'm far too sheepish for certainty
wisdom is subtle, stupid's confident - the peaceful need urgency
I've inherited the Earth, this is meek on a murder spree
but to get a point across I gotta speak in hyperbole

they say environment picks up for where genetics are careless
meaning "you" are just a mixture of your friends and your parents
any sense of awareness boasted is illogical strides
life's a stage of nurtured monologues and genomic asides
I wanna be honest in spite the lack of plaques that I've captured
I'm god, son - God's son - getting whipped out back from the Master
leaning on the back of Erasmus, moral fiber that could pass as elastic
patterned and axiomatic - callous in the casuistic paths of his palate

if I retract all my answers, the questions remain
so keep repeating "fuck the world" like a lecher's refrain
no pressure to be prescient - nothing's more precious than pain
less is more, more or less, so bless the sects who abstain