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Friday, June 15, 2012

Cipher 104 ~ The Wild Church ~ Watch the Throne Vs. Watch the Thorn: The Mitishamba Series

“Ghetto dreams got every color wanting to turn hood, like white sheets never hid the fear they still and will eternally walk with whenever another who’s naturally better makes an even better and smart moves. Ignorant in their walk they hung leaves on a tree like jackpots can turn green into roots that grow on streets, but watch their present moods. Silenced like lambs that lost their coats during the months they were actually supposed to tuck their Osama in now they can’t even talk to the star that directed them to a field where their harvest once stood. Can’t pin a man’s maid slipping through your waters and now sits on the most valuable pot of gold called time that they are constantly begging to get in or back to. I slay ‘em, these goliath thinkers thought their thoughts were worth more than David’s throne that he serves hot from every direction, which still has millions of stones unturned gathering no moss as earth’s hills rolling have these wicked beginners uniting citizens in fear of the community that they thought they could turn broom. Wicked witches, the East fire is served hottest so the sins they bore on earth will have to bear the fruits of my lovable neighbors who’s sand still stands dunes. Get your counts right, this is in June, tenth ain’t that bad when seven begins with desperately wailing to get a taste of the one, two. Gulp these seats as my thoughts go beyond the hooded morons that still have hate for the least of these grooms. Bride’s maids, they servants watch the courts as they serve us, but nothing comes without them handing out their earth’s illegal status to anything that wants news. Blind campers, they playing cowboys while aliens just allowed for something more refreshing to help them because their time to farm was past due. I’m chiming, ringing door bells that have skull caps thinking blood can label their skin under their perception of having anything worth a rainbow lacking their most hated hue. Without love, so my clouds I turn ominous till the ground is cold enough for them to even have any water to paint images in the color they can walk on without tools. They empty handed so I hand out verses to anyone that can see clearly to the bottom of any spring that the desert now finds these fools. Desperate to get back to their safety net they hashing out moving screens of space and turning noble men like Lincoln vampire just to paint a brave enough image to face my earthly goons. Let these stars fall as I twinkle and hush anything that moves coz I just bought myself a mocking bird worth a golden goose. She feeds the world her wickedness and fantasies while starving one child that lives on reality thinking that adopting an image that resembles her as a servant can make her look worthy enough to join a jungle’s brood. Hell must be missing some fury coz a woman she scorned is toasting to the nakedness of everything that respects her every inch of being from toes to her shell that they beach in tans with the hope of maybe, just maybe resembling anything more attractive than my woman's cacoon. My queen’s watch has turned star gazers to star grazers but there’s still enough grass for me to turn leaves for days to come coz I’m no drone in trying to attract a woman thats always, even with her weakest thrones of diamonds jubilating, is destined to lose.”

Mitishamba.
“Ayo, The Hulk is here!”  

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