Thursday, May 1, 2014

THE ARCADE [produced by: Son Of Sam Productions]

"Ground Control to Major Tommy,
you've become silver ball,
We're laughing uncontrollably at the timing of it all,
more perfect than the Tesseract,
first fractal of the Fall, here We go again",
hope I offend you out of your sheep shell,
sleep well?
Ingredients in my utility belt,
One meteor or two?
Crust melt like a sliced sunny side, don't run and cry,
the gooey insides are proof it's all a game,
you pressed "start" and your heart was marked when you entered your name

The Arcade forever knows the ways you play
and the scores that you hold,
got a quarter roll the moment they  opened the doors,
hold the title of highest,
yet I divide into four

Spark a Bluntville, let it smolder,
find a Fun world in a held controller
of a driven consciousness,
I know it seems bleak but you're anything but weak
so quit weeping like a bitch, crying out:  "I tried",
whip some damn ass like Samus Aran smiting Metroids,
apparently you don't remember
that I gave you a power pack,
now you're back on the ball,
they will all suck my nuts,
call it "getting sacked"
as they crash into ruin,
I know what I'm doing,
it's in my heredity,
Eshu passed on to me the mask that holds every one of our true memories