what I dont know is killing me but not in the physical
what I dont flow is a mystery so it aint that mystical
its habitiual the literal ritual of literature
that officials the mental with procedure and principal
plentiful fistfulls of lyrics bareknuckle punch your lips and grill
bloodyin your nose just from reading these darts twisted so well
and spun at the target hittin bullseye like a marksman
when the bars hit your thirst is quenched by the blood from your own heart
spit that back out when you spit your raps out
spell out your little captions to your mental picturehouse
so I can visualize the actions you take when you gettin down
you entered the Temple of Darts now you backin out
with wounds to meditate on eyes glued to this groove
you choose your own adventure like those books where you lose
if you flip to the wrong pages from followin the wrong clues
you landed here to hear me tell you a lot of new news