The Garden

Beg you listen me, don't be kissing me 'til I'm done

Unsung champion, reason, like seasoning

Pepper your thoughts with spice, and entice you to a space

Where I dwell with bass players and layers and loops

Think what I think with my prayers. It's nice. My world is everything I've become

Contained in the hum between voice and drum

I'm coming from the same place I'm still running from

But even sitting in the garden one can still get stung


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