The Art of War, we seek for peace.
To be a God, or to be discrete.
To love is to be numb, I feel the slightest touch.
To rely on those is like leaning on a crutch.
To determine, to weigh souls, we to and fro.
Back from Sirius up through the constellation Bow.
Chasing the Stars, it was a front.
In order to be free, it's a must to smoke blunts.
Afternoon delight, our scars run deep.
The two extravagant wings be covering my feet.
In which, I pray, for God to understand.
Through her, I understand, how to become a good man.
The Reaper of Souls, their hearts turned into stone.
The story gets lost, while playing telephone.
The fans that ride, they look for the heat.
Acting as if that God is the one to be beat.
No more pain, I rest in my grave.
By the time I incarnate, I'll finally get paid.
The tears are dried up, my life in the right.
The Lemurian Morning Star that is ever so bright.
The Nagas, they hiss, they bind with white souls.
The tough Igigi, who continue to grow.
Determined to fight, my sword in my hand.
To continue to channel as if it was God's Best Band.
Invoking all energies, the elements on lock.
In which the beautiful birds that fly like a flock.
Was angry, it hurts, I wish there was more to gain.
Selling souls on the black market, they look for Pinky and the Brain.
Now framed with crimes, the feeling pure bliss.
To turn, is to watch, to fight for a kiss.
Ignore and uphold, we are as one.
Having a drink with my crew, forever having fun.