I keep a notebook off rhymes with locks
'cause they are of value, protected by glocks
In the form of pencils, kept quarantine,
lyrics are to sick, but can only became better then
the page before, as I look trough the third page towards the four
I see some lyrics wich are cursed to be lyrical incompetent
Maybe I'm just hexed with the blessing to tend
to be too picky at them, as I bend the next page
My eyes get cought with lyrics off grace
Poetry wich is deeper then the deepest ocean or sea
As I read I dwell in to the depht as an submarine
Sinking towards the end of the verse
Closing the book with kind movements as a nurse
And closing my eyes, with a pen in my hand
I lean back and keep the notebook on my lap
As I dwell in my own thoughts,
I take the task to get all those lyrics caught
In my own zone were I store loose rhymes
the only one who knows the concept of those lines
besides the almighty God.... is my book off rhymes
Feed would be appricieated
