Song picture
Negative Pearls of the Sublime
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Single   $0.75
Don't get me started on you too. Drama, drama, drama.
hiphop jazz beats poetry spoken word god spirituality
Artist picture
I sing, I wax poetic, I create the beats, I mix the FX. I am the band.
I do spoken word poetry, with some beats behind it.
Song Info
Genre
Hip-Hop Spoken Word
Charts
Peak #13,075
Peak in subgenre #220
Author
Rahkyt
Rights
2005
Uploaded
June 16, 2005
Track Files
MP3
MP3 2.2 MB 64 kbps 4:42
Story behind the song
Drama, drama, drama. And mo' drama.
Lyrics
Noisesome and quarrelsome we be, bent upon denying the heaven-sent. Deviously selfish and enamored of fiery conflagrations, of words afire, spiraling lower into the fathomless black of the Abyss... These barbed words are aflame with Spirit Light, because I'm going all the way in - no holds barred - tonight. I'm talkin' 'bout some seriously flipped scripts, on the: "You don't know what I'm talkin' 'bout" type tip, or some of that, "You ain't been where I been" kind of lip. I'm 'boutsta bend your ear all the way down to the most Holy of grounds, soundin' off 'bout the hidden clause of life, ignored without pause by gods and men alike, psychoanalyzin' the Light in spite of the gift-given-divinely, of intimately spiritual Sight. Verbal attacks track the antics of feeble-minded tyrants who have the nerve to arbitrarily serve a Spiritual Giant... and no, I'm NOT talking about myself. (got it?) [May God help all purveyors of the sublime...] Because, although I have been known to rhyme a word or two, to spin a tale or a few in lieu of that babblin' - big word usin', non-definition knowin' - and discombulated verbal stew blowin' of flatulent wind that sometimes masks a fool not knowing what to do, (or say) sprayin' sh** just 'cause it sound good: like diarrhea of the mind, writin' rhymin' lines, "just because"... Because, they... Because, they could... Because, they could...NOT STOP themselves, not realizing that syntax and meter are Divine and that Symbology awakens meaning beyond the borders of Time? I mean, I ain't the one to force nobody's head toward the Son, to awaken worldly thoughts to the lessons He taught, to remind some once again that beyond this world lies THE END. (of mortal life, that is) But, most simply said, to take the place of divine grace alloted within a poet's MOST SACRED SPACE is negatively Heretical. Hermetic sciences applied by novices do indeed awaken the God Breath, and will also take the weak and the unwary that much closer to their appointed moment of death, unless the resultant fear is Conquered, the oppositional forces released, controlled, and suppressed. (you see, words KILL. words spoken in anger can FEEL. they're more than just a THRILL. for REAL.) [oh, now I see, they said...] But I'm talking about poetry, FEEL me? That flowin' non-breath holdin' stream-of-consciousness reality foldin' multi-dimensional ascention above non-verbal tension that awakens the crowd, that gets everybody shoutin' and singin' out loud, Got'damn I'm PROUD of this Poetic Nation! But at the same time, I'm scared of Negative Confessional oblations offered without groundin' in the Spiritual, without the blessin's of the Ancestral, or the necessary expressions of the Orchestral Harmonic that sings within, that chorus of inner voices that denounces each of our perversions and dedicated spins upon worldly - and otherworldly - sin. But, I wonder truly, is this understandable? A parable for the terribly scorned and/or the unwarned? A commendable lesson learned, metered out by The Apothecary of the unwary? Does the TRUE MEANING sink in? Tell me: would you rather hear the Truth from an Enemy? [Or a Friend...?] That words are TRULY power? And, like that canary in the mine that, once it keels over - dead to rights - gives warnin' to miners to seek the sky: those deadly gases, like sin, have filled our lives, and that precious breath of Creation Become stills in chests, and in minds that have forgotten what it is to be Blessed. Nebulous, my consciousness diffuses beneath the weight of centuries. I fall, I rise, in Heaven's eyes Sin burnt to ashes, Within I sigh, hoping, praying for relief, gasping back words only thought and not said. Recognizin' their blasphemous nature diaphanous matters come to a head, and Destiny coalesces in
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