
ethos
Swag Type Heavy
this is a verse to a track im working on, its a somewhat personal song, so id like a second opinon. i am an emcee, so i will be rapping, not singing.
not sure if that matters but anyway... its basically about an artist who sacrifices his social life to dwell in the house and make music...
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He would write until his hands would bleed, fingertips calloused
Walk the border of insanity, trying to find the balance
Can’t distinguish the meaningless from acts of pure genius
He’s obedient to destiny, but she was far from lenient
And he means it, every single word he’s ever said,
But they fell on deaf ears, right before they fell dead
Now he sits indoors at noon, tracing constellations
He’s agoraphobic with legs folded in full lotus
Doesn’t notice that reality crumbled and just imploded
It happened just like he wrote it, depicted in all his notebooks
Now its hopeless, he’s dead to the world he sees
The speech curled, only speaks in soliloquies
He’s a misfit, a loner, he knows no other people
He’s a starving artist, survives, by eating at his ego
Every poem is a thesis, scribbling Mona Lisas
Blown to pieces, he sits at home on the weekends
Sold his sole for some ink pens, a pad is his B friend
Sleep walks through seasons, not sure if he’s still breathing
Tried to hitch-hike to infinity, too dizzy to find his thumbs
Mind is numb, his rhyme lifeline, connected his spine and tongue
Given he loves his music, but art is a praying mantis
And love fails, when words are taken for granted
His mantra is chanted, on backdrops of break-beats
But in a moment of clarity, I realize that “he” is me
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its the first draft. and i wrote the last 7 lines 10 minutes ago.
any advice would be cool. i dont like how i say "he" and "his" so much.
please be brutally honest. if this was the worst thing youve ever read and you want to kill me for wasting 5 min. on reading it, tell me.
.peace.
not sure if that matters but anyway... its basically about an artist who sacrifices his social life to dwell in the house and make music...
--------------------------------
He would write until his hands would bleed, fingertips calloused
Walk the border of insanity, trying to find the balance
Can’t distinguish the meaningless from acts of pure genius
He’s obedient to destiny, but she was far from lenient
And he means it, every single word he’s ever said,
But they fell on deaf ears, right before they fell dead
Now he sits indoors at noon, tracing constellations
He’s agoraphobic with legs folded in full lotus
Doesn’t notice that reality crumbled and just imploded
It happened just like he wrote it, depicted in all his notebooks
Now its hopeless, he’s dead to the world he sees
The speech curled, only speaks in soliloquies
He’s a misfit, a loner, he knows no other people
He’s a starving artist, survives, by eating at his ego
Every poem is a thesis, scribbling Mona Lisas
Blown to pieces, he sits at home on the weekends
Sold his sole for some ink pens, a pad is his B friend
Sleep walks through seasons, not sure if he’s still breathing
Tried to hitch-hike to infinity, too dizzy to find his thumbs
Mind is numb, his rhyme lifeline, connected his spine and tongue
Given he loves his music, but art is a praying mantis
And love fails, when words are taken for granted
His mantra is chanted, on backdrops of break-beats
But in a moment of clarity, I realize that “he” is me
---------------------------------------
its the first draft. and i wrote the last 7 lines 10 minutes ago.
any advice would be cool. i dont like how i say "he" and "his" so much.
please be brutally honest. if this was the worst thing youve ever read and you want to kill me for wasting 5 min. on reading it, tell me.
.peace.