Brain Food For You're Head

Just like the fighting master jet li, I found my fighting style Tai Chi. because it is fluid like me. The spirits of the ages have engulfed me. Gave me sight, forced me to look through the trees. Dead but not in the sea, I came across the ocean, of emotion, from far away rubbing it in like lotion. Reappeared, disappeared just like David Blain, the institute of the insane, inside my brain. Take a look at yourself, in yourself, because I'm sold on the mojo. Coming across like a mad poet, the apostle of prophet, the institute, the apparent genocide of my eye. Operating underground, I found my source to hear the sound. My feet sway across the roads of time, worn out, scrapped up, from following the signs. Evolution is the flower that spreads in your head, like butter, and jam on biscuits and bread. My brain feels like lead, I need some food for my head. Did you hear what they said? Modified enhanced, my brain at a glance, just, give me the chance. Words start to flow like a river through a meadow. Not an inbred, but a hybrid. Words are lead. The future is dread, bleak, not to seek what is written, without fear. From your eyes come tears. From your mouth, to around your ears. Hear the whisper, as you feel chipper. Their negativity spreads to you, because they want you to feel as they do. Just look around, all you see are clowns, impostors of life, importers of wife's. See them as they are, greedy self-centered living in a jar. They buy new cars. They meet all the stars. On the backs of ours, time heals all scars.

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