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lirik lagu bent – saafir

i’ve been down this corridor –
before you enter you have to bring
back the creator of winter d-mn,
too late i’m spoiled, i need the napalm
i got it, i shot it in my left sector,
blew up the timing device on the reactor.
time shifted i had to remold the floor
the foundation for creation – mate’s blend
the pleasure dome into another roam –
a walk stalked nightly by the ogre
that’s rarely sober. but there’s no tracin
i see the place in the flow. i’m beyond dawn,
no i’m not in the lawn under p-wns –
don’t rest, never possessed stagnate magnets.
i never pulled slits lips wit no braille skilled eyes –
balls through eyesockets. i’m currently current
currents of electricity; they can’t get wit me
invisible to the retina half – way reality part limbo.
a nervous laugh while ya climbin through windows,
never spin ho’s on merry-go-rounds,
be the ground level for ghouls, schools of fish,
victims on a hit list me like geronimo on a pratt –
tackle patt tacklin patterns addin in seasonings, flavor.
no false teeth for beef, catapulting fingers to light
switches so you can see the real, i feel the tension
my sight twitches – i’m bent.

second scene: i’m the star in a step show
around corners, the coroner’s office;
where my rep grows. i’m on some sort of drug
like the president, it’s evident that i’m noid,
a little bit of pizza – the riddle gets deeper.
i’m lookin for outs n ins, stolen isotonas,
the gloves, the bout begins three jabs on a transport
it’s a sport for me to take another life on landing,
branding wit a prattle prod designed by god.
it’s my job to resign frauds,
the odd is against you got a degree in me,
so i know that i flow, credentials are essential –
it’s blasphemy the type of sh-t they be askin me.
i don’t feel the vibe, abstract art the veal
doesn’t heal this deprived stomach from a plummet.
swinging on a duet with the bullet.
i never pull out for suspense – i’m on a bent mission.

jack cousteau couldn’t take it no deeper –
i’m a resident in davey jones micro-locker
holds the phone, foamin at the mouth:
mad dog, a taste, never had hog i’m droppin
the scrooge, makin fools h-t the log – axe it.
i seen it beneath where the cowards hope
trembled sleeper see if you can find the lost
treasure through measures in bars – i’m bent.

- saafir

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