Walkabout from Cygnus Opus by Angle

Verse:
Can’t see the end of the mile that I’m walking in my shoes.
Fog thick, cloud weighs heavy, sitting on streets and avenues.
Sidestepping the lawns to avoid the mines and potholes.
Clear of basking worms, no spaghetti dangling from soles.
The finest buds, laced with a Blue Note session.
Speaking key note. Welcome an invigorating depression.
Exercising depth perception and getting collected.
Radiate the heat of a flame that self-respected.
Sense it or get scorched. Don’t get caught out there senseless.
Or grasping for breath, sidestep the gap in your defenses.
Can’t leave the earth, trying to perfect the ascension.
See A to B, but not three and four dimensions.
Nah, you ever notice the fog respects your personal space.
But, not on this occasion, came up to greet me face to face.
No, cold shoulder from this old friend.
It’s alright, going to be alright.
Hold, onto the stories once I’ve told the end.
It’s alright, going to be alright.
Why the hysterical laughter like a clown for, ‘cause the downpour,
Dropped a message I found more, impossible to ignore.
Brought me like a cloud to the ground floor.
The sky opened up, like the cable got cut.
(rain/white noise)

• Dust Collectors
• Hip-Hop/Rap
• angle
• beats
• hip-hop
• jazz
• laid back
• lyrical hip-hop
• lyrics
• party
• rap
• underground
• underground hip hop
• walkabout
• Des Moines