open book

yeah

it's the four owls baby

the four owls

yeah

owls

what

dreaming i can picture it

yeah

lights down low so the mood turns ambient

visions transcend but the time length's transient

void of the camera lens poised with the valiant

stallion style on the beat when i'm banging it

rap brings cures like oil from the cannabis

in the zone

no objects inanimate subjects comparative

i open your passages

vinyl spin round slowly expose the narratives

get the pen then i desecrate sampling

used to be blank now the pattern style's epic

mad psychedelic don't rap hypothetic

sleep paralysis leaves the body lying severed

elevating presence in a setting unmeasured

messages develop like photogenic evidence

unfold your relevance compose my sentiment stone cold but excellent

i walk the lines to the beat hand style flares around with my thoughts like i'm living in side of my speech

painting a horizon under my feet

or a sunset

drawing out the things i haven't done yet

or i scribble it out then walk away from the mess jump to the right side

one flick and it's out of your head

new page

new day but it's still the same book man

a never ending verse with no chorus or hook plan

now there's three me's

we're sat in the conference agreed no regrets but being followed by my conscience see it on the paper as a grey cloud of nonsense

that's drawn by myself it come to life and it wants some

jumping over full stops like i've got a stutter

something dot dot" the honest ramblings of a nutter