A microphone has an aura of sounds around it
|
When the lips make contact facts of fiction surround it
|
Unbounded noises founded, phrases mounted
|
But I get grounded.
|
Allow it and it will flow through the screen
|
Soft spoken or a scream will
|
stream through the means of time
|
That will amplify the vibe which I thrive for
|
Mental doors or windows open or close
|
Depending on which moments I chose
|
|
Guitars bass
|
Check your tone
|
Yo where's Mike B
|
I'm on the microphone
|
And Barry C.
|
He rocks hard like stone
|
The 4 elements Tokyo to Rome
|
|
Flows occur blank pages turn into rows of words
|
Or rows of phases in a particular matrix
|
The basis for this is instruments
|
with a microphone
|
Recycle tone through the cords
|
to clone the not shown
|
But heard so observe the superb yet absurd
|
Got no reason for concern
|
|
Guitars bass
|
Check your tone
|
Yo where's Mike B
|
I'm on the microphone
|
And Barry C.
|
He rocks hard like stone
|
The 4 elements Tokyo to Rome
|
|
[Chorus:]
|
When I'm feeling this was
|
I just must play
|
I release me through the urgency
|
Our consciousness is collective
|
This force we've made
|
Will always remain
|
|
Music completes a certain part of me
|
But there's not enough words to express me fully
|
We've been pushing on the cord to the outlet
|
Of the electrical socket
|
Music transforms form into thorn
|
That's poking the old prick looking at kiddie porn
|
I scorn not born locked to mock
|
Not the flock so us four chose to rock
|
|
-----------------
|
4 Elements
|
| Chronic Future |
