String Theory |
The first dimension, the one in which we live
But not the only dimension to ever exist
Controversial sciences, norm reliances
From which we was taught, shed your biases
The first exist for the artist
A world of harshness, this world’s a canvas
Man’s bliss, from the abyss of candidness
Can’t exist, without the famishes
War damages but art bandages
Every holocaust borns artistic advancements
From new dances to poems in san script
To Thelonious Monk in the same band with
Coltrane, expand your bandwidth
From hip-hop lyrics to films in Spanish
Embrace the artist, embrace his hardships
This is the arduous, one piece of the planet
The second world exist for the scientist
A people so cerebral they almost emotionless
Nine-tenths of the mind, devote physicist
One-tenth reserved for the love of lyricist
Art does exist, but not a heavy extent
Emotions provoked could lead to wickedness
A world so advanced, their leaders are pragmatists
Never practicing, pride or prejudice
They know about us, but we don’t know about them
They touch the strings for communication
They’re science advancements, no way we matching them
Art’s our distraction, in a way a pathogen
What’s theory to us, they put into practice
A vessel crafted to visit our dimension
But the pragmatist, said that can’t happen
If our worlds collapse in, they can’t imagine
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The third dimension is ubiquitous love
No, man above can command this love
While the first and second are subservient to government
The people of the third got communal trust
No used for lust, but to soothe what hurts
No art experts and their science is worse
Put the needs of the many above the person, first
The heavens burst, gods are one with the Earth
Disease don’t occur, no doctor/nurse
No Pandora’s Box, no Bible verse
No plague or curse, no Hittites reserve
Aluminates never fell, still hail utopia
No warring religions, no dominate church
We could have been them, we got art, but so?
Look at the drugs we smoke, that goes to show
A man’ll hang himself if you give him the rope
The sun, moon, and stars, that’s all me
The land the sea, the air you breathe
Every quirk and molecule is connected through strings
There are more than four planes, you can never know everything
The sun, moon, and stars, that’s all me
The land the sea, the air you breathe
Every quirk and molecule is connected through strings
There are more than four planes, you can never know everything |
