A mode of acceptance strattles the ground.
Quick fingers scratch light into me, and
Strengthen the bass with clarity.
Glide across in lines with breaks,
as the creator gives... the monitors take,
the lips they part, the hand come up
to vocalize rhymes and spit out thoughts
Synths and beats, sound gives its pleasure
to a new generation, of notes and measures
Sound comes up, music dies
with the morning lights leaving night behind,
of aching minds, aching bones, confused rights
and dirty clothes.
Exhaused bodies blindly follow,
the darkened cirlces and hollow lungs,
keep tight those eyes so the day me be
refreshed, anew with cleaned impurities.
Till come again another week
day calls for calling out the sheep
to blanket the seedy corners with shade
to hit repeat and start the rave.