Turning 40 tonight, dedicated to my mind and pen.
Seen half the earth, wrote on tabs and papers , half of my brain content, with pure intellect lacking confusion, still serving as a mammal at 40, surprised I made it this far, word to the Godly spirits and my mums angels around me. Nature, this air we breath, nick name them if you please, the five elements, conscious minded on a constant battle with basic laws of physics and science.
The lost sun’s cortex dialects, my visions in a pen play be awkward, like that movie Back to the future, I don’t listen to beats, eyes see patterns, my brain consumes and breaks them into cords, while my ears like the worker bees produce nectar, that’s that sweet symphony. Easy, my feathered pen bleeds, metaphors hieroglyphic, the ancient one is here, try and carbon date my African years.
Writing this, I’m forty moons now, should have been locked up at area 57, mathematics close to my heart, I used to board them forty sixes (46), once in a while when I was young. From 16 to 32, I’m trynna push my mental mic metal barrier. No more bars, if you feel me go back to eight, hiphop principals. I gat a body now with 40 layers of knowledge, spitting historical scriptures, not Bible founded, but the apex, of the logic of the Pyramid Khufu with gallactical constellations that pass through.. word
These be my 40 rhymes, that break the documented 16 and 32 Hiphop bars, Heavenly form in a human like body now 40, as I jump on the silver surfers back, my destination is a distant galaxy. Immo see you after another 40 plus them other light years. plus still say peace to the gods, and all my Davinci minded, Burning bush tongued spiritual fire rhyme spitters. we been above basic Britannica, Bibles and encyclopaedias, our thoughts been pure hieroglyphic, I done been on that 40 rhymes, nothing less, conscious, the Lost Sun been on that lyrical scheme. step off, not back, emissions I produce be deadly as I ascend on my 40th, spitting 40 rhymes, my life on 40 plus lines.
Word.
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