BUILDING BLUEPRINT
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Lyrical Analysis of...
Unfinished Lines
- ///Intro \\\
- 0:03
- Every word Ive ever written was a hand reaching through the dark
- Every line Ive ever given was a way to restart
- The conversation that we started when we still believed in art
- Im standing at the finish line I drew upon the start
- ///Verse 1 \\\
- I been carving my name in the wall of a burning building, patient
- Every artist ever great was standing at a different station
- Baldwin wrote the fire next time and they still couldnt face it
- Basquiat bled the crown and tagged it in the highest places
- History dont honor prophets, only profits on rotation
- So Im writing for the version of myself before the ratings
- Before the praise arrived and rearranged all my equations
- I was simpler, I was hungrier, before the complications
- Of imagining an audience reshaped my observations
- But I think about Coltrane, four years left, still in creation
- A Love Supreme, he didnt know it, he was just calibrating
- Every note against his breathing, every phrase anticipating
- Something past himself, the music was a form of consecrating
- What it means to be alive and feel the frequencies vibrating
- Through the ribcage like a sermon that the room kept mistranslating
- Im a vessel not a genius, just a signal propagating
- through the static of a century thats desperate, suffocating
- Waiting for a voice to name the thing theyve been debating
- Im still learning how to answer that, still calibrating
- Im still waiting on myself. Im still waiting. still waiting.
- ///Pre Hook \\\
- Sing about me even when my name becomes a stranger
- Even when the people that I loved became the danger
- Even when the story that I told becomes a fable
- I just want to know that someone kept me on the table
- ///Hook \\\
- Sing about me when Im gone
- When the morning doesnt feel like morning anymore
- Sing about me when the dawn
- Is just a word for something I wont witness anymore
- Write it in the margin of a book you barely opened
- Write it in the silence of a grief you havent spoken
- Sing about me when Im gone
- When the morning doesnt feel like morning anymore
- ///Verse 2 \\\
- I keep a photograph I never take out, the grief would swallow
- Me whole if I let it, so I keep the memory in the shallow
- End of feeling, close enough to touch but not to hollow
- Me entirely, grief isnt the thing itself, it follows
- Its own clock, its own logic, how it narrows
- Then expands mid inhale, sharper than arrows
- My mother knew this, wore it bone deep, dense as marrow
- Prayed in rooms the daylight didnt borrow
- Into, windowless her faith was iron and refused to narrow
- Even when the ground gave out, I watched her follow
- Truth through every hollow
- Morning she was handed, pour herself into a swallow
- Less throat of circumstance and never wallow
- Never let the grief become permission to be shallow
- With herself or us, she was the template I still follow
- Now whenever pride is pulling me from something borrowed
- Deeper than my ego, what she gave me isnt sorrow
- Its a compass pointing true through every tortured tomorrow
- Every honest thing Ive said has lived inside that marrow
- Every debt I owe to love is oriented toward her
- ///Pre Hook \\\
- Sing about me even when my name becomes a stranger
- Even when the people that I loved became the danger
- Even when the story that I told becomes a fable
- I just want to know that someone kept me on the table
- ///Hook \\\
- Sing about me when Im gone
- When the morning doesnt feel like morning anymore
- Sing about me when the dawn
- Is just a word for something I wont witness anymore
- Write it in the margin of a book you barely opened
- Write it in the silence of a grief you havent spoken
- Sing about me when Im gone
- When the morning doesnt feel like morning anymore
- ///Bridge \\\
- I been dying of thirst in a river isnt that the irony
- Standing in the answer and still begging for a sign to me
- Every truth I ever chased was in the library
- Of my own experience, the chapters I was trying to
- Skip past, too afraid to sit inside the symmetry
- Between the wound and what it taught, between the fire and liturgy
- Between the man I was becoming and the man I had to bury
- To become. thats not a metaphor. thats the only victory
- ///Verse 3 \\\
- I used to think that death was something I could outwrite, outlast it
- Icarus with a pen instead of wings, still flying past it
- Burning up the closer that I got to what I grasped at
- Turned the ash to metaphor and called that being crafted
- But the sun dont care for metaphor, it burns at what its directed at
- It burned the ones I looked up to, the greats arent resurrected back
- MLK was 39, the mathematics of that
- Are only abstract until your staring down 38 and contracting
- Inward at the weight of it, ozymandias had the sand cracked
- Around his monument while he still ruled, empires react
- To nothing in the end, they just collapse, and those who carved it turned to artifact
- Before the carving dried I learned that early. no, I take it back
- Im still learning, still unlearning, still attacking and retracting
- Every certainty I held, the universe is still transacting
- In a currency I havent earned, the stars are still extracting
- Meaning from my silence, light that travels without asking
- Permission, light from stars already dead but still illuminating
- Something in the dark below, thats how I see everything Im making
- not a monument, a frequent frequency which is not permanent, just breaking
- Into something that might reach a stranger who is still awake and aching
- ///Hook \\\
- Sing about me when Im gone
- When the morning doesnt feel like morning anymore
- Sing about me when the dawn
- Is just a word for something I wont witness anymore
- Write it in the margin of a book you barely opened
- Write it in the silence of a grief you havent spoken
- Sing about me when Im gone
- When the morning doesnt feel like morning anymore
- ///Outro \\\
- And maybe thats enough maybe thats the whole negotiation
- Between the fear of dying and the fact of our duration
- Here, brief, necessary, incomplete, a small vibration
- In a frequency too wide for any single generation
- To contain, and Ive made peace with that, Im past the desperation
- Every river finds the ocean without a map or destination
- Every morning that I wake is still an act of consecration
- Something holy in the ordinary, thats not compensation
- For the grief, thats just the truth of it. But dont just sing about me, carry
- Yours. the weight you bear is yours. the grief is ordinary,
- holy, the way all ordinary things are ordinary
- necessary. every scar a door. every door a library
- Every library a version of yourself you hadnt seen yet, barely
- Recognized, but real. All of it was real. And warily
- Or boldly, you were here. you stayed. thats legendary
- In its own right. Sing about me when Im gone. Ill do the same. Sincerely.
- 5:50
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