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the cloud heaved its chest to breathe the breath of god for heaven's sake |
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freeze the crystal face of yahweh on a sheet of liquid space |
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so no man could duplicate or counterfeit his handiwork |
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press the palm print of the universe on snowflakes to disperse |
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they descended upon the earth blessed with reckless abandon |
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fully landed, intercepted by a curse so underhanded |
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now they're stranded on an island strip in the atlantic |
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manhattan hides a mayhem in a mask of winter magic |
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snowing in manhattan like your dreams, it never happened |
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crashing to the earth because nobody strapped them in |
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lashing out and splashing wisdom in your face to wake you up |
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jehovah's living water, but you got a broken cup |
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and you filled it up with latte and you're sitting at a starbucks |
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purchase peace of mind, but can't spare poverty a dime |
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blind believer; snow falling on the cedars |
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a blanket of blessing is the cloak of the deceiver |
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got you fitted for a failure that he measured by the meter |
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draped in comfort's cape, so you got nothing left to fear |
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except the fear of no escape and the fate to which you're born |
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a grate on 38 th street in hopes to keep you warm |
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whether or not you survive the storm doesn't really factor in |
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if you thought you'd last the winter, then you'd better think again |
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the world would sell you water, steal a quarter from a friend |
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you better think again, you better think again. |
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hook - dust on the cuts -- |
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[freddie bruno] |
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i keep it ill and rebuild a monolith up to the cosmos |
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plant spirals on the tip as a landmark for all coasts |
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take life as a package deal and wander aimlessly |
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a zombie wearing a smile is what i came to be |
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took the glitterous gold and made a tithe on sunday |
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i got it back tenfold disguised as wordplay |
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now i'm rapping through a winter in manhattan for the listener |
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heal sheets with blue stripes like i'm your local practitioner |
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[listener] |
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so, heal this wanderer standing on this sidewalk lonely |
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turning my face to the side, sighing to watch my breath |
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exhale in the air. swallowing to keep from crying |
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watching people, thinking that all my life i wasn't even trying |
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cold hearted winter receiving no token warmth for my dying |
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this cancer of regret has got my voice locked in my throat |
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stepping off the curb in central park and observing |
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non-participant of happiness, i know |
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that it's my fault and i've kept myself locked in my prison diseased |
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pleased at the time of my sedentary nature |
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and now consciously merge my life with the fallen leaves. |
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hook - (dust on the cuts) -- |
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[sev statik] |
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i'm work for hire which means i ain't seen a dime for my rhymes |
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but i ignore the business side and dollar signs |
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i just write what's inside for you folks outside |
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i gotta follow my calling and swallow my pride |
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you might see ds5 in some dope magazine ads |
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like stress and xxl to promote record sales |
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cash rules everything around these labels |
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and how they make decisions, how they be painting a picture |
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larger than life, even larger than christ, i ain't kidding |
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you think it matters the company, secular or christian? |
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think again my friend, we've all been deceived |
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the bottom line is money green with the idea of ministry |
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it's history; christian acts carbon copy worldly cats |
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from the sound they create to the image they attach |
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i ain't saying no names because the truth could get me blackballed |
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but it's ungodly to be faking and bite off of biggie smalls. |
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bridge: |
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the world would sell you water, take a quarter from a friend |
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you better think again, you better think again |
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you better think again, you better think again |
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you better think again, you better think again. |
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hook x 2 |
