Wrote a really interesting article. Be sure to give it a look!

https://substack.com/@theconscientiousobserver10593/note/p-223878119?utm_source=notes-share-action&r=63kges

Billy the Butcher [Verse 1] Little finger to the ghost of fatigue, becomes a middle finger as I coast through these streams. I’m so lightheaded, I could float on the steams that keep stemming out of my scalp, I hear flames underneath my cap, but I continue to move because they’re probably a few and I’m running on fumes, but that doesn’t mean much, I presume. But much like everybody else, I’m the opposite of what to assume. [Verse 2] It’s true, part of me needs some getting used to, I’d try things you’d never dare to do. Game is ‘do or die’ until you’re due to die, people misconstrue this rhyme, and say it’s suicidal, but that’s the social contract unless Rousseau lied. And Rousseau died before he saw what these ruins had tried. And justify as you might, explain your hyper-fixation on Camus and why it’s affecting your commute and plight. Will you dwell among these prudes or fly; higher in the skies you were meant to be in the first place? Even the strongest of birds couldn’t do it in the worst days, when their wings would hurt and weigh heavier than the world’s waist, and they couldn’t work ways to get back to when their burst’s innate. [Verse 3] And yeah I do have a discerned taste, I’m certified in the art of criticizing anyone above the age of thirty-five, for not doing shit to get their dirty lives in check, they took their merry times to rest when they could have grinded till they’d arrest. All of these bozos, I detest, cause they failed in the easiest of tests. [Chorus] La la la La la la I can’t hear, I’m not here. [Verse 4] That’s me when you elaborate where your opinions lie, I’m aware that I thrive on making these onions cry, compassion’s denied for anyone who put their compasses behind, name of the game, any space for context’s undermined, I understand what I do, and I ignore anything I ain’t meant to be getting. The game’s get or be got, so I put faith on the Begotten. But nowadays everything said by Him is forgotten so I take a deep look within and wonder where I’d be without Him. Nowhere. I take a deep look within, and wonder what I’d be if I wasn’t with Him. Nobody. My potential ain’t even bittersweet, it’d have been grim, and I know it. And I ain’t even gnostic like that, all I know is I’ma be him at my lowest, but what’s the point of everything here, if I don’t know what’s good for me, and what ain’t, before I hop on these streets looking for somebody to save?