A Fond'ish Farewell I hate hip hop... more than any other rapper ever born. And i admit the lack of faith here could happen to us all and that my soul is sometimes blacker than the darkest winter dawn. And i'm always late to the battle. And i don't have the heart for war. But i was gonna fight the fight and i was gonna unchain the melodies. I was gonna write to ignite and burn the lies ingrained in our enemies. I was gonna do a lot. In truth? I just ran our of energy. I never quite drowned out enough of the demons here that yell at me. I never sported the right clothes, i mostly just laugh at the prices. Still my soul barely grows cos i'm still too attached to my vices. I'm child minded, third eye blinded and facing a midlife crisis. I tend to stand and burn alive rather than head to cooler climates. Some days it feels like endless chimps just picking off the lices. I can barely get to sleep at night, too busy worrying what the time is. My mistrust is a fire at port, sinking my supply ships. And i'd probably drown in the drink sure, if left to my own devices. I've done all that i could do, and i'm still losing the war. I pretend i still want to fuck you, while i'm walking out the door. It's true that i really loved you, like the many times i swore. I used to hold no-one above you, now i just don't. I just don't anymore. I guess i never really found you, like my place within the scene. I hold a different set of values and we have very different dreams. I used to think i'd die for this, while armed to the teeth. I guess i'm somewhat 'survivalist' with a heart that fucking bleeds. And i'm on my stubby knees too busy scrubbing off the tarnish. And after all i've seen you'd think i'd have some rage to harness. I'd presumed that i was sent to find some justice in the carnage... Turns out i'm less 'against the grain', more 'sandpaper and varnish'. Now we both know this marriage had some rocky years, but sure; we carried each other's luggage y'know, cos what a best friends for? But some of our behaviour lately has been abhorrent and deplored. And i'm not sure how much more i can take before it warrants a divorce. I feel like i stayed this course and it just led me to this cliff edge. And if i don't start to show some force i'll be swimming down there with the fish eggs. I just can't shake the feeling now that somehow i've been mislead. And i just don't see us healing while so many demons here plague this head.

Stay calm, don’t be alarmed, don’t join a militant faction. This is not returning karma, just a simple simian pastor. As a youth I rocked harder than continuous magma. Now I’m just ‘rusty armour’ and bars like William Shatner. Can a battler crave blood without an octagon to splatter? Am I a lover or a fighter? ‘Cos I’m hopeless at the latter. Obsessive or writer made of consciousness and matter? I’m every local rappers’ least favourite rapper. Just along for the ride, scribing SciFi in tie-dye. Unable to understand how fast time might fly by. A poor guy with sore eyes, puking over the port side. An ordinary chimp disguised, acting like he law-abides. And talking-wise? I heard I wasn't burdened with the rhythm. ‘The awkward rise of nerd’ I guess we work with what we’re given. Initially I had a cynical side, now limited by my satirical mind. And if I’m not a hero? I guess I’ll expose the villain inside. I heard a bird piping up saying “This beggars all belief.” When they handed out the looks, I didn’t turn up to compete. Even when the Autumn falls, I’m still not turning leaf. just a canine chasing canines, picking canines from my teeth. As far as I can see, I can’t see what I should do next. About as lost as can be, like a eunuch in group sex. I’m less ‘contract signings in black ink’ and ‘huge cheques, More ‘poetry carved into a tree in crude text’ More ‘Kubrick-esque’ than ‘suplex’ - Terrified of exercise. Stacked against the decks - I just can’t empathise with enterprise. I’m quite the piggy too. This shit is finger-licking, generalised. Feet up flicking through, the devolution as it’s televised. I’ll emphasise… I know I’m not a natural in this genre. Head mostly composed of failed attempts to find Nirvana. Vulnerable and weak despite using this art as armour. This is ultimate defeat. And yes, you’ll find I’m half bananas! Felman ... Nope! I’m so pretentious I'll make a point of saying I'm so pretentious, For the sole objective of rhyming it with rhododendrons. I ask a load of hokum questions and they’re all open-ended. I do not know my demographic. Never held a focus session. Never held a job down. Never held off cold depression. Never held my head high around the folks that I’ve broken bread with. My dad looks like Alistair McGowan. I am used to false impressions. One loose comment would hole me up for a week like Covid testing. I spend my life slacked-jawed looking around. With one foot in the grave and the other foot in my mouth. I seem to attract bad vibes, I’m sure I’m putting them out. I start every fire and complain about putting them out. Cortisol coursing and swarming and dwarfing the endorphins. My ego is smaller than a short list of short things. My inner voice storms in. “YOU’D BETTER SOUND ANGRY IN RECORDINGS” But when my wife calls it’s all “PUPPY AND A MORTGAGE” I’m either all-out or all-in where is the balance? Why do I continuously play with my facial hair while I’m rapping? When did I get in the habit of letting this happen? Somebody summon Cthulhu or release the Kraken Or some other fitting distraction. I don't like that I like life Cos I can no longer hog the limelight or hold the mic right. Why put so much stock in something that isn’t my fight? I guess not every exit is a brexit if it’s timed right. I’ve been licking my wounds, putting tonic on the welts. That I wouldn't even have if I’d been honest with myself. Instead of face-planting at the bottom of bottomless wells. And apologising for feeling sorry for myself. It never mattered that the beat’s banging and the flows booming. When every morsel of unhappiness has been my own doing. I never had style, and I still put my own to it. If you're into this tune you’re part of the problem, it’s so stupid.

Final Word All i ever tried to do was show the hurt i feel, artistically. But realistically? I've left a trail of those shaking their fist at me. And if i'm honest? I'm completely happy going down in history as the one who kept his promise. And music's biggest mystery. It's tantalising but advertising doesn't tent to work on me. Even when disguised as poetry and spoken verbally. I'm music's biggest secret! Meaning no-one's ever heard of me. And even in emergency, i'm badly lacking urgency. Now, i don't want to cause harm by simple being an alarmist, but i know the season's harvest comes just before the darkness. I've always been an artist. It's always been my safety harness. I just don't know what art is, if it's not somewhat cathartic. And i don't mean to come across like i'm music's bloody martyr. I write cos i'm too tired to join the protest with the marchers. But there's soldiers on the front line wielding mics and magic markers and some more upon the hill who use guitar strings like they're archers. And this war will sure rage on beyond the likes of you or I. I should put the pen lid on before i slip and lose an eye. I wish the meaning of this song was "Just keep fighting, do or die!" But the truth is soldiers age, and you'll need a new supply. And i'm not sure what life will bring but it won't be 'pursuit of wealth'. And i'm not sure i have much in me, just a walking human shell. I never sold too many albums, i guess that most of you can tell. But fuck it - profit only ever seems to poison wells. This is my final word. I don't care what you've seen and i don't care what you've heard, This is my final word. Some say that freedom is so dead that it must have rigimortis. Some are locked to their keyboards, trapped in a fast-food-fortress. I guess some will still write lyrics well into their forties. And some will know when to quit and with some luck become stories. I'd just like to make an impact before i'm little more than carbon. And if the roof is ablaze, it's most likely from arson. These days tin foil hats have become designer garments. With people set to watch the world implode from their apartments. I'll still carry bruises from the times i hit rock bottom. Still wear my heart on my sleeve, though that's not considered modern. I'm somewhere in between Johnny Rotten and Dot Cotton. And i guess if no-one knows me, then i can not be forgotten. And if this is really it and i have one last thing to say... It'd be "When you face the flames raise your voice and bring the rains" and "Never be afraid to grab a torch if an evil kingdom reigns and if you can't carry a pitch fork just sit home and sing the change. I never found time to build a fortress my hands were always full of stuff, with a saw or a paint brush or a notebook of wasted hooks. I'd have built steps to the moon with junk if i'd have collected enough. And i've written more lines than i've actually read in books. I probably sold less works of art than i gave away, that's fine, if it helped just one single other find their way. I wrote lyrics cos i never had the patience to meditate and i never felt like music and money could really be friends anyway.