What's this? A bottle in front of me
Grinding feeling rougher than the norm
Throw a tape of the quiet storm
Flash dreams 'bout the last birth of a nation
In genes beneath the last stop at station
A culture, buried at subway here
No wonder some people are called the devil
But God favors those with the biggest cannon
And even killers of the culture need a companion
Spare nothing 'bout quarter nor sugar for dime
Woe to the conquered in the face of the crime
Better chillin' on a ledge catchin' tropical breeze
Than in jail coppin' sexually transmitted diseases
And lost like craft of many or most
In a mediocre world no need to boast
Green Blue switch lights
Blackness cut by blinding white headlights
Silence and peace of art treasures hidden away
Between stations Stillness framed by cold metal angles
Ghost stop sculptures of Strobe light animation
When trains pass by
Exuberant zig zag of calligraffiti
Comes alive in this modern city
Like ancient cave paintings transformed to this day
Buried alive, left to decay
Like a gem in the mud never ceasing to shine
Surrounded by people this moment is mine
Ancient hieroglyphics of our day
Burst alive in a surprising display of
Sparks flying through strange incantation
Girders choke light causing strobe light claymation
On the Writing on the wall in this lonely shrine
Train passes by but this moment can't be denied
Brooding energy ready to explode at any time
Brightens up my day riding the subway
Same as my craft tries to awaken the hidden and lost
Graffiti cemetery locked away in your heart and mind
Art. What is it? Asking quizzically What's this? A bottle in front of me Grinding feeling rougher than the norm Throw a tape of the quiet storm Flash dreams 'bout the last birth of a nation In genes beneath the last stop at station A culture, buried at subway here No wonder some people are called the devil But God favors those with the biggest cannon And even killers of the culture need a companion Spare nothing 'bout quarter nor sugar for dime Woe to the conquered in the face of the crime Better chillin' on a ledge catchin' tropical breeze Than in jail coppin' sexually transmitted diseases And lost like craft of many or most In a mediocre world no need to boast Green Blue switch lights Blackness cut by blinding white headlights Silence and peace of art treasures hidden away Between stations Stillness framed by cold metal angles Ghost stop sculptures of Strobe light animation When trains pass by Exuberant zig zag of calligraffiti Comes alive in this modern city Like ancient cave paintings transformed to this day Buried alive, left to decay Like a gem in the mud never ceasing to shine Surrounded by people this moment is mine Ancient hieroglyphics of our day Burst alive in a surprising display of Sparks flying through strange incantation Girders choke light causing strobe light claymation On the Writing on the wall in this lonely shrine Train passes by but this moment can't be denied Brooding energy ready to explode at any time Brightens up my day riding the subway Same as my craft tries to awaken the hidden and lost Graffiti cemetery locked away in your heart and mind Explain Request ×
Lyrics taken from
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