Recommended if You Like
Aesop Rock Atmosphere Del tha Funkee Homosapien

Genres You Will Love
Moods: Type: Experimental Spoken Word: Poetry Hip-Hop/Rap: Underground Rap Rock: Shoegaze Electronic: Experimental

By Location
United States - NY - New York City

Links
brokemc.com facebook! myspace! twitter!

BrokeMC

It's been a long road. Ya'll walked it with me
from the po'dunk towns to the frosted cities.
We've seen the hard times. We all thought of quitting--
never got kissed off, just left the bottle spinning.

Kids games for high stakes and big breaks like
promises and hearts--all the sharpest mistakes;
that park in your brain and leave scars on your face,
and stay with you until the end of your red carpet race.

You had all the aces but you gave em away;
taken for granted and traded in for some fame,
erasing your past trying to make a new name,
but the roots stay the same and you can't get away.

Gave it your all cause you thought it was your friend.
Then you gave it some more and it took it and grinned.
Borrowed from chums thinkin that it might end.
Always giving out, might as well be giving in.

Splitting the skin on your feet and hands.
Living for something that you just don't understand,
but it's too late to scramble, couldn't cancel your plans
cause they all saw you jump, placing bets on where you'll land.

It's just you and I, my poor heart, in the Dark.

This creation weighs heavy, birthing untouchable things;
So many unsteady angels working troubled wings.
Muffled mantras. I'm lost in a haze of Nag Champa but
I'm stronger than I let myself be. I'm stronger!

I conjur these feeble beasts to charge you in fleets.
It's a card up my sleeve, not so hard to believe.
A carnival ride on a weekend of sweet weakness,
sweeping the evening squeaky clean of grievance.

I'm detatched from the marvels I hatch, and
startled to catch myself spitting bland articles:
A Farcical batch of blasphemy, bohemian rhapsody,
Scheming for a safe place to sleep with her Majesty.

Please keep your distance. I'm feeding the crooks,
and believe me, sweety, it's not as easy as it looks.
They need me to bleed on the plates and the cutlery
they wait for my suffering, my pain and percussioning.

I'm through with the sideshow lifestyle and glamor.
I'm moving to the cemetary--no more critics or cameras.
I'm stitching up the vein I been bleeding for too long and
next time you come to look for me I'll be gone.