(PRODIGAL)
THE SOUND...
http://youtu.be/MDXIxl1QRtM
I who was born Guerilla in an urban landscape.
I who was born fighting and scraping cause my skin black did not allow the masses to see my peoples potential.
The full manifest of my solar energy as I flare, sending winds racing cross galaxies encased epidermic.
The cosmos of stars walking around unaware... Dim memories of what they could be... They having become sheep.
I lion lounging on the plain having seen all these things in late night dreams, visions on a subconscious screen where souls scream as they fall into the pit of startling revelation that so many call death.
They wishing they could come back from the flow.
Warn the masses that they have been decieved, that this is not who we are designed to be.
I from the comfort of cover spit these teflon clad rounds into the cowering crowd political.
I walking pump rounds into their inert forms... Wouldn't want them to suffer cause even the Guerilla has compassion.
They departing scream...
Music so sweet to the sufferings ears that they welcome the prodigal son as he walks up scarred and torn.
He reborn The Urban Guerilla.
JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY
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