I'm Not Driving Anymore by Rob Dougan

You tell me I can't slow down

you tell me where I've got to be,

I spin into the darkness

but I swear that I can't see anything in front of me

no, it's a joke, I'm not driving anymore

I can't keep up with you

you're closing in behind

I've got headlight in my eyes

don't get too close to me

can't you see that we'll collide

and then because of this

it's just all wrong

I'm not driving anymore

I can't keep up with you

so leave me on my own

brought me down and race away (from me-distant)

I've got nowhere to go

I don't think I can get back on my feet (back on my feet )

it came right out of the water

eyes wide and terrified

I can't pull my brakes on

I can't swerve to stay alive

cos then I'll lose control

and I can't choose

I'm not driving anymore

I can't keep up with you

so leave me on my alone

brought me down and race away (from me-distant)

I've got nowhere to go to

I don't think I can get back on my feet (back on my feet )

get me out of harmsway

can't you see I'm paralysed

I wanna fade out gracefully

but you keep keeping me alive

to face another day

can't you see I'm through

I'm not driving anymore

I can't keep up with you

can't keep away(can't keep away-distant(3))

tell me how am am I, god

I wanna end this cervex saw

till this night-light expires

I wanna go swimming in the sun

and I come up for breath

sit in god's room

I'm not driving anymore

I can't keep up with you

I'm only for consumption

I don't know how to play my part

I swear I'm all lonely in this thing (unsure)

and I'm drivimg my car

to oblivion, let it come soon

I'm not driving anymore

I can't keep up with you.

Intoxicated Dreams

Intoxicated are my dreams, even...

A story never told of persistence
More valuable than gold is the mission
Society unfolds contradictions
Like hoes tryna justify their hoe'ish conditions
We roll with the soldiers and misfits
I was born in the winter;
My hearts an icebox but my soul reconsiders
I'm growing old in my youth cuz Imma sinner
The bold in the bulletproof denim
Wants my soul to begin with
Apparently...
I'm the perfect shade of brown for a statistic
I always wear a frown cuz happiness is nonexistent
My chest burns from this rum I'm sippin'
I'm probably living in Hell already;
Just ashes in an Urn perceptions livid
The smoke clears and bodies appear of all the victims
Ain't no discrimination of men, women, and children
These flaming towers and burning buildings
Redemption, we seek it...

So Intoxicated are my dreams, even.
(V2 to be cont...)

Aatif Shakur

#HA!

The Calf Path by S.W. Foss

One day, through the primeval wood,

A calf walked home, as good calves should;

But made a trail all bent askew,

A crooked trail as all calves do.

Since then three hundred years have fled,

And, I infer, the calf is dead.

But still he left behind his trail,

And thereby hangs my moral tale.

The trail was taken up next day,

By a lone dog that passed that way.

And then a wise bell-wether sheep,

Pursued the trail o'er vale and steep;

And drew the flock behind him too,

As good bell-wethers always do.

And from that day, o'er hill and glade.

Through those old woods a path was made.

And many men wound in and out,

And dodged, and turned, and bent about;

And uttered words of righteous wrath,

Because 'twas such a crooked path.

But still they followed - do not laugh -

The first migrations of that calf.

And through this winding wood-way stalked,

Because he wobbled when he walked.

This forest path became a lane,

that bent, and turned, and turned again.

This crooked lane became a road,

Where many a poor horse with his load,

Toiled on beneath the burning sun,

And traveled some three miles in one.

And thus a century and a half,

They trod the footsteps of that calf.

The years passed on in swiftness fleet,

The road became a village street;

And this, before men were aware,

A city's crowded thoroughfare;

And soon the central street was this,

Of a renowned metropolis;

And men two centuries and a half,

Trod in the footsteps of that calf.

Each day a hundred thousand rout,

Followed the zigzag calf about;

And o'er his crooked journey went,

The traffic of a continent.

A Hundred thousand men were led,

By one calf near three centuries dead.

They followed still his crooked way,

And lost one hundred years a day;

For thus such reverence is lent,

To well established precedent.

A moral lesson this might teach,

Were I ordained and called to preach;

For men are prone to go it blind,

Along the calf-paths of the mind;

And work away from sun to sun,

To do what other men have done.

They follow in the beaten track,

And out and in, and forth and back,

And still their devious course pursue,

To keep the path that others do.

They keep the path a sacred grove,

Along which all their lives they move.

But how the wise old wood gods laugh,

Who saw the first primeval calf!

Ah! many things this tale might teach -

But I am not ordained to preach.

by S.W. Foss

"Tradition is nothing more than “well-established precedent.”