I’m sending a message

To all the gangs running the streets

Like Mercury

With my Caduceus

I’m in too deep

I’m painting a portrait

Of passion and guilt

Betrayal and war

Like The Iliad’s

Helen of Troy

I’m lifting pressure

In the heat of this eternal struggle

  As my brother’s keeper

Through stormy weather

All I speak of is hustle and crime I conjure up dead presidents From my plots and my schemes And I get no peace like the Middle East

My existence is like a rain’s drop In a mass of billions I’ll be gone in an instant

It’s getting hard to speak I think she’s trying to break me down It’s when I least expect it She emerges from the crowd

I just touched down from a spiritual journey and perceived the all-seeing eye radiate its neon black light.

I feasted with the beast and drank wine from the bottle, with the music from way back playing black magic in the air.

I was caught up in the storm and observed how the thunder from the barrels of the guns struck both sinners and saints.