Saul Williams все тексты (слова) песен, переводы, видео, клипы

Everybody know when the sun rise
See it dawn in their own eyes
Die and bloom in a season
Everybody knows what the folks call reasoning
On a distant planet
Where the reason landed
And the folks transparent
Fourth-dimensional libations, granted

I dare you
to love me

just the way I am.

And I surrender
to the charge
that we were

I don't know whether to laugh or cry
And i don't know whether to live or die
I kept my love for her locked deep inside
It cuts like a knife
She's out of my life
Out of my life, out of my hair
Out of my mind, there's no love in there
I move on, move on

I want my money back
I'm down here drowning in your fat
You got me on my knees praying for everything you lack
I ain't afraid of you
I'm just a victim of your fears
You cower in your tower praying that I'll disappear,
I got another plan, one that requires me to stand
On the stage or in the street, don't

Light years.
Eight planets out.

Light years.
The hopeless desperation
that I felt.

Oh! Picture a dream

To manifest your dreams before you manifest your fears.
To navigate beyond the treachery of self-despair.
To find the balance between all you sense and all you see.
To find the patience and the strength it takes to let it be.
To stand amongst the crowd and have the strength to hold your own.
To throw away the pen and pad and simply be the poem.
To rise above hatred to love through seeming contradiction.
To seldom take a side and learn to compliment the friction.

I drive a yellow Volvo. '86 submarine. Someone's behind me in an escalade trying to blind me with their high beams. I make a left. I'm the road to nowhere, heading west. The sky is purple streaks. The sun is setting in my chest. I feel warm inside. So I'm going for a ride. Put your picture on my dashboard 'til my fate and your collides. Seaweed washed upon the shore. Severed locks of he who walks the ocean floor. I drive a yellow Volvo. '86 submarine. Rims like Tibetan prayer wheels and my tank is filled with dreams. Fuck the game, I practice being in the passing lane. And watch the price of gasoline rise with the price of fame. I'm immortal. I render unto Ceasar to be cordial. He sees a wooden casket where I see a glowing portal. Check your engine. Looks like you're running on the blood of Indians. Put some turquoise in that rolls Royce before you crash into a pendulum. Seaweed washed upon the shore. Severed locks of he who walks the ocean floor. I drive a yellow Volvo. '86 submarine. I drove it under water guided by my own high beams. Nothing's left. Witnessed the demolition of the west. I feel like a little kid hiding in my mothers' dress. I'm in space. The lone ambassador of every race. The starfish that discover me plant their flags into my face. I'm a clone of every written and unwritten poem. A shark pulls up beside me fingering beads and chanting om. I can't believe it. I never really thought that sharks would need it. I thought they'd make their peace: bite it, bleed it, kill it, eat it. But I was wrong. Every living being deserves a song. And our passions must be rationed 'til our rations sing along.

And I can't become my father when it's all been said and done
His completions won't complete me
I've divided me by one, I'm the answer to his riddle
I'm the caution of his wind
I'm the spoon wedged between tongue and teeth beneath his trembling grin
And I dare add my revision for I dare not suffer twice and I dare not reinvent the past
And I dare not be the Christ and I welcome any sufferer
And I welcome any Saul

Children of this night
Only some will star the sky
Only believers in death will die
And fathers must feather the wings of women
For the unfeathered masses dangle ridiculous
Carrying crosses to phalayx filled tombs
The future sails silence through blood rivered wombs
That ripple with riddles of cows and spoons and births

I'm falling up flights of stairs,
scraping myself from the sidewalk,
jumping from rivers to bridges,
drowning in pure air.
Hip hop is lying on the side of the road,
half dead to itself.
Blood scrawled over its mangled flesh, like jazz,
stuffed into an oversized record bag.

Infinite.

Isn't it?
Wouldn't you agree?

Everyday. Everyday.

All it ever seems

I will not rhyme on tracks
niggas on a chain gang used to do that (Huh!) way back
I will not rhyme over tracks
niggas on a chain gang used to do that (Huh!) way back
don't drop the beat on me
don't drop the beat no
ah
I am not the son of sha klak klak