RIKOSHAY & SCISmatters "City Silhouette"
Rik the Country Bumpkin-Something:
From afar the summer stars become the sparkling filaments that thread
patches of midnight together into a silken, gentle, spread.
Stealthily, overwhelmingly, the city casts it's silhouette against
this infinite canvas of ebony, creating a brilliant specimen
of void, as absolute dark engulfs the surface of each soot gilded edifice.
Thrusting towers scrape the sky and escape the eye in a guiltless testament
of man's diligent attempts to live with gods while wallowing in familiar decadence.
What was once a community in full bloom esprit is now a wilted settlement.
A wilderness of metal and concrete where bewilderment is met
on a regular basis by it's remarkably resilient residents
until the breaking point is reached and the human quilt is shred to bits.
We rely on faith 'n luck and back pocket media to rake the muck,
when the filth is evident
in the wasted humans and human waste that form the silt and sediments
layered throughout the canyonesque passageways to kill the resonance
and assure the insecure no longer echo goodwill or sentiment.
Talking heads with demon smiles stream to file idyllic messages
which instill a restlessness intended to fulfill the peasant's wish
to out maneuver his neighbor on an stilted precipice.
No one wants to live in run-of-the-mill oblivion,
yet a community pillar's lineage traces directly back to civilian simians.
Imbecilic symbionts form a vicious circle round a stand-still meridian.
We built this city with an endless supply of village idiots.
Now they all sing the praises of the puppet masters that shill their itty-bit.
Over-the-hill committees sit in executive offices
and expect to live off interest accrued from illegitimate
acquisitions and lax traditions intrinsic in a system that milks the innocent.
A unique disparity left the meek inheriting an off-kilter, splintered, mess.
Those who started the portrait departed before it's completion.
A pilgrimage expressed through the following generations filtered images,
besmirching the heart and our search for an artists with the skill to finish it.
SCIS the city slicker Matters:
I got the city in view, an obsidian hue
for the love of colors you'll get blown to oblivion too
But I call it home, of the ballers known for gall and stones
but never crumble, do as they do, but never fall in Rome
You would think we were all alone but unity is,
the only helping hand returned as soon as we give,
our all for the throne.
Our grapes of wrath make every king the prune that he is
Dont strive for par. Pride is God. Get the livest car
These city lights can drown out even the brightest stars
Dreams of buying bars out wit' enough cash to do it
We clockin ya fastest movements as slow as molasses oozin'
We glow when the flash is, losin' it's bulb.
Go out only when we can stash the tool in the club
The brashest fools are the loved ones, half the cools one get slugged
while those same fools laugh when the cool kid is cast in a pool of his blood
We make pinky swears
then read the index for the rules of thumb.
Check in the mirror; take a look at what you've become
A dweller of off roaders, gellin' wit' lost soldiers
I've seen living men walk where John Edwards would never cross over.
We are the heart of the flesh, the darkness of death.
The machine that never stops still sparks in a breath.
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