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-CROWNOFTHORNS.8k.COM- -HOME-
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RECORDED: DECEMBER
1999
TK: I stand on my tiptoes, stretching out to reach for worldly recogintion, but my hands only grasp carbon-dioxide, throwing mud on my mission. Because of my self-centered intuition, malnourished cause no spiritual nutrition, drouts and famine strike my mental, seeds cannot grow a son/sun not risen, no peace in my life, my puzzle not complete, shallow submersion bred shallow sentiment I refused to go deep into may calling now I'm falling down this pit of self. Greed, lust, pride, envy- these false jewels have replaced my true wealth: the precious gold of Jesus. Salvation, a gift I must share, I dare myself to spare the lost, show I care, convince you why you must come to the Cross. Get my vision in line, I can't do anything if it's impaired, like a drunk driver on the streets if I don't attend to my daily walk and prayers. Blurry perception makes you susceptible, get in tune with Christ only then are you respectable, the enemy has it's missles locked on target- you're radar-detectable. The decisions you choose to make are not deniable, excuses are not viable. Each day you choose to follow Christ or the world, are you a rock or are you pliable? Meditate in the Bible, defect from the side of the rivals. Stop trying to stifle the Truth from hitting your brain and toppling your foundations- which were upside-down pyramids, and I'm not speaking on an Egyptian equation. How much persuasion do we need that we're being attacked by a satanic invasion? Where you don't need to be wearing white facepaint or black lipstick to show you've been overtaken? Mistaken, we all are, we can never attain perfection. Sinners from birth, but all is forgiven when you accept God's protection. Still, we must constantly strive to improve and do His will, even though it is hard to swallow the cure, Christ's heavenly pill. CHORUS NDIT: I inspect, but I don't regret- past actions made that were incorrect. More investments in my daily walk is necessary for me to embark past living embargos where traps are thrown but never sprung. Mistakes are made, are never undone, but my face is saved through faith in the Chosen One. Ancestry doesn't mean that I've got defects in my mental genes, obscene reality leads for inner discoveries. Discomforting schemes in my troubled dreams make the presence known when the moon is full. Only with the Rock can I ever stand alone, managing the various barriers I erect makes me prone, imagine my shame when my sin spawns a clone. Full blown insecurities fly through obscure realms, death rights are performed though God didn't condone. The facts are piled higher then the floodgates can hold- greater respect is garnered when I make the kingdoms fold. Now the heroes from old are forced to rise out of the mold. Rebirth is performed when cold hearts are warmed. Warnings are rampant in scripture, but are categorized as a pop-icon rapture. I couldn't speak louder if I was raised from the grave. When the fire starts to burn, drops of water on your tongue you will crave. Even the voice of Lazurus wouldn't save- all five of you brother nations will stay enslaved. My father Abraham knows that your ears will stay closed, Moses and the prophets spoke to convince. Looks like a lost cause if the Word doesn't elicit repentance. CHORUS ECTO: A triangular ravine land dominated by an immense oak tree lay at the confluence- a symbol for the original settled settlers, part time gardeners mentioned nowhere. Now we're relaxing in the shade by the upgrowth pasture lands, still remain like Capri-Sun juices in our hands. Currently currency can correctly corrupt. Continue to rain, in the pain of the house was religion. I feel external relief, internal pressure release, the love of the Spirit goes unmeasured, I rest assured. Surely arrest, like couch-potatoism, late last night with Segal and Chism. Parable dilemmas beyond boundaries of precious commodities, generosities abound like congergation of elders. Traveling overseers, obedient for soon-occurances safe-guarded as sneers, smears onto genuine glorious stones like aromatic oils, the emotional cure- all the nutrients in manure. Like facts to a brochure, pro-cure given to benefit in charitable planning, I've unintentionally, conservatively, stubbornly clung to tradition like Preston Manning, presto! Ecto sift through the sands of time, crystalize formulize with the Size. Like Sifto salts waltz like Disney used to scribe Prof, you can call me Profecto, was threatened by the Gallery of the Night, who thought that I was down with Pesto? I don't think so, I'm fine not reclining like large corporate managers saying mine or tainting voting booths with ballots- well I say I enjoy and admire the leaky art on the pallet. CHORUS
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