lirik lagu perfect city – julian jefko
verse 1:
here’s a perfect city, obverse the insidious/
deterred, it’s idiots aren’t heard, where real life/
can feel like phineas and ferb, i’m formidable/
on midi and the hideous of sounds don’t occur/
misery in words birth calligraphy with wittiness/
confirmed, no one says jimmies for sprinkles/
or limits the ability to learn, where dogs/
never die, or froth foam in jaw bones across home/
where writers are kings with auth0r-d (arthur) texts/
their art’s respected more than architectures/
from centuries ago, the place where mineta/
gets his t-tties, and he’s no longer viewed as pathetic/
or cemented in some pity, pipino still in venice/
doing theft with no evidence that’s left within the city/
where seconds are hours and the days number many/
where time always waits and the man’s always ready/
verse 2:
here’s a perfect city, observe where the end/
of this life is, where i’m writing, and i don’t even have to be/
pretending to like it, rekindling flames/
liberated through immolation and living through lighters/
where repet-tive nights become different excitements/
adrenaline rushes through roads and depression/
isn’t given a license, visibly withers/
away like images brightened from a flame, every line/
is an epiphany striking, a stick hitting timpanis/
tightened in a symphony or guns when they visit/
where the men and the mice is, been through a crisis/
fighting vices and venemous vipers, but observe/
how we switch it, put em on caduceuses, healing sickness/
then it’s tickets to flights, to the place where riches/
are priceless, where chickens and tysons/
live together with wizards and psychics, even crickets/
will laugh and stay grinning with their sentiments heightened/
verse 3:
here’s a perfect city, observe how we turn/
to puppeteers, string melodies’ll move constellations/
and soothe somber faces, where wounds are escapes/
blood prison breaks through shaken cells/
and tombs are the seeds for the souls that’ll bloom/
on the pavement, the sky is in gold, and the moon’s/
bronze and blazing, notice how craters are where we found engravements, where nonsense -ssumes domination/
cupid could hit even muriel and eustace/
with an aim as straight as euclid’s make ethereal communions/
crucifying jesus turns to razorblades in judas/
and my poetry’s encoded in a database for futures/
and imperially suited, there’s hearts in kings/
and they’re goofier than snarks that sing, ephemeral/
isn’t a thing and heaven’ll give us some wings with pedestals/
pendants and rings, don’t even need to bring pince nezzes/
to witness to prince settings, decimal/
digits will sing right to persimmons and the forbidden/
fruit will turn to vegetables, spinach, and greens, go past/
what the current sees (currency) and envision the scene/
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