Posted on by wrote in J..
Soul Drifthe exhales
and smoke that he’s sitting in has got him in a sentimental mood
signals that it sends to him swirls under a ceiling fan
seals the deal
take a tote of brown sugar and cinamin
and your mind slows down to a simpleton
like a swimming match at wimbeldon or a racing arthur ash in the pool
ash the end then pass it left to four minutemen
there sits the master chef
or a mathematician while i’m holding my breath
the algorithmic and the physics of a cell
and the smoke
and the brain
it’s so wright brothers
it’s alright brothers
two pipe covers
four brothers and a leaf from dimes
the moment before learning to fly
the silences before your screens turn black and white
yeh this that good shit
and this aint hurtin nothin
wouldnt hurt a fuckin fly

Pompei

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