Wall

Tell the mind how its poetry's a criminal

Tell the words to respect the lock up in the face

Yet forget how every path would just be liminal

So why'd you tell the mind that two poems don't interface?

Take the handle of the grid to try and move it up a notch

It's some stupid shit to think that all the poetry would stop

All that pressure in the grip, it's but a fragment of the mind

When the rivers play the harmony, we leave that stress behind

In the supple heart of music, ain't a molecule of doubt

Why you been doubting the music that your mind does write about?

Why you trying to hide the notes another mind could never sing?

What's the reason for the novelty to play inside in vain?