Speak, Lord (Killer Mike song of same name, Datpiff.com)
may the choir's voices lift me on pensive wings,
grant me the serenity to keep the piece
speak my peace,
greeted by gleaming rings over the heads of kings
I just left my hellish jeans in the dressers of connected fiends,
deceptive queens,
wreckers and schemes that leave my chess scenes in disheveled pieces
we are rebels to the weakness,
the diseases from felled trees infest sheep and seeds alike
speak the plight of my people over beats, steeples and mics
teach them to write,
teach them to fight these white pages with wise placement
if you don't try you won't make it,
let it go, your blade is wind,
you are the creator, the Maker, a face of the fifth
I traded some of this to run in Hades, unlit
unfit to be funded by fundaMENTAL gifts, I ached
to be whole in cents, a hole in the sense of being made in another's shape
even if I fold and fade my own shame won't hold me long in temptation's wake,
walk wind-blown lakes with jonah and debate a whale's weight of prophecy
yes, Gotham will bleed if we let the watcher free,
for every dollar it sees it grows larger and feeds
even farmers and priests march collectively in sharp formations,
forests ablaze as this force faces justice in the form of Satan