Though it's shrapnel we're still armed and dangerous, ain't nobody's victim in this motherfucking city. Wheels of the new age churn and the fuckers stand steady, ready to learn, while the spire house the pimps that preside us all to disguise the rubble of their workaholic lives scattered but earned.
Damn ruination sprinkled in moca latte materialism, surreal and served straight up commercial to the whores, black hearted and snorting lines of segragation to convince themselves they don't belong with machines as obsolete as us, wounded, cracked and broken.
I trace these lines and this pavement reeks, where both the mighty stumble and the weak