A faceless man stands staggered
paintbrush in one hand, pallette in other
splattering every culture - I mean color!
on a canvas, haphanded
strikes unplanned, satellite unmanned
paint contacts, expands and drips slow
like raindrops on windows but the scenery's on top as well as below
tremble tremolo, two-treble-o, deuce deuces bellowing over open archipelagoes
and the record goes
everything around me keeps going down and down
but this ball of dirt keeps spinning round and round.
Eight billion individuals
sleeping and eating and living and dreaming and killing and stealing
civilians, criminals, constants, variables
morals, dismissing rules, normal, shit to lose
barbarians, infidels, battalions, terrorist cells
Isaac, Ishmael, crisis, morning bell
kills, casualties, mobs, families
bomb 'em till there's no more problem then build gradually
over bodies of soldiers, property holders, peasants, presidents
believed in God but life is not what He told us
so people lay bedridden and wonder if the world is moving or their heads just spinning
and in the interim, business is imminent
militants kill innocents, citizens hunt immigrants
the bigoted birth the ignorant
cuz hungry babies make quiet little kids, confused adolescents and full-grown killers
in a cycle of idle principles, mindless rituals
a rhymebook of listless riddles and still we keep scribbling
higher and lower and over and under and cover to cover
and only to discover
everything around me keeps going down and down
but this ball of dirt keeps spinning round and round.
credits
from SKELETONS,
released July 31, 2005
produced by Nocturnal Ron
Prolific Mexico City rapper SPEAK ponders the self-isolated age on a booming EP, recorded live in his kitchen during quarantine. Bandcamp New & Notable Jun 24, 2020