I've been wondering where El-P and Def Jux have been lately. But then I realized, oh, they're are just holed up in a tiny Brooklyn apartment for weeks on end writing incredibly complex, poetic, depressingly dope songs about pain and loss. Silly me.
This isnt brooklyn,
its a colony of wayward bees without a queen
more like sims controlled by childish deities,
and thats not time we're wasting, nah this is life
like the gleam off that blade when you slipped my ribs the shivy,
i like to think of it as a stay of execution,
its the wispy trails of our cumulus pollution,
its the petchulant reaction of a wounded child
its an escape hatch to this zeppelin we're inside...
you're a piranha with cutlery for dentured up smile
i'm an incomplete punchline to a joke i dont understand,
it's a cookbook and i'm you're favorite chapter when you're bored
its a recipe for the same slop you've served before
its the clearest truth i've ever had the misery to speak
but these arent words,
these are the terms of my surrender and defeat
beyond the sorry nature of existing with no plans,
just wave goodbye with that claw thats not a hand.