Hexad Triumphant

0:10

I mapped the blueprint on the back of my cerebellum,

Calculated every angle so the framework would compel 'em

Every bar a steel girder, see the structure Im erecting, tell 'em

I dont build on sand, I build on bedrock, and I fell 'em

With precision, every syllable a chisel when I shell 'em

Medieval in the method, pre-medieval in the sequel

Every level got a devil but Im climbing for the steeple

Needle in a haystack but the haystack is the people

And the people only search for what already feels familiar

Call me peculiar, 'cause familiar is the killer

The filler is the industry, the pillars are the real ones

Im one of those, the chosen ones who carry all the steel tongues

Steel lungs too, I breathe in smoke and exhale cathedrals

Every inhale is a intake of the things that make me lethal

Im the medium and message, read me Marshall McLuhan

say the form is the content, then my content is the ruin

of every rapper who confused complexity with beauty

yeah, I said it, rhymes dont make a bar, thats my duty

To remind 'em, meta moment, Im describing my own process

The song your hearing is the proof, the art itself the promise

Step up to the plate and watch me eat you for the warm up

Your a dress rehearsal, Im the headliner performing

You were warned, you still ignored it like the sirens in a storm front

Now the morning after shows the wreckage of your format

your bars are flat, the topography is boring

I got mountain ranges, valley floors, and coastal scoring

Your recording in a closet, my lives on recording for the morning

of a movement, everything you do is decorating, adorning

Empty monuments to nothing every trophy is a warning

That the accolades dont equal substance, yours is corny

And Im sorry, but Im not and thats the tension in the story

I could soften up the blow but softness aint the glory

Heres my allegory you a soldier with no ammo in a quarry

Surrounded by the evidence of everything your missing

Every listener can feel the shift, theyre done with your existence

Done with artificial confidence and watered down assistance

Not just rapping, not just stacking syllables with glisten

Im in it for the legacy, the simmering, the distance

Slow burn outlasts the hot take and the glittering insistence

Im the court and the conviction, your acquitted of all skill

looked myself dead in the face and didnt like the angle

The stranger staring back was tangled in his own mantle

Every handle that I gripped left splinters in my palm

And the splinter was ambition wrapped inside a bomb

Slow fuse, I kept defusing it, kept losing all the calm

The psalm I wrote was Trojan, honeyed beauty as a balm

But underneath the surface I was carrying a qualm

The storm inside the silence like the eye inside the storm

Hold on, I said storm twice, but the meaning isnt the same one

One is the exterior, one is where I became one

With the chaos, thats the game, homophone inside the plain tongue

Language is the lock and language is the chain, son

I ran that back a hundred times and let it soak like rain, done

the stain of revelation doesnt wash out, it remains, numb

to logic, 'cause the logic cant contain the thing Im named from

Which is ironic, 'cause the language is the main drum

The vehicle I drive to reach the places that sustain some

version of myself that makes the art that makes the pain come

To a point and points are all Im sharpening my veins from

The noise and the signal are the same sound in my brain, son

They built the ladder then they pulled it up before I climbed it

Told me I was lazy 'cause my hands could never find it

The design was always intentional, remind it

to yourself each morning when the cynics try to blind it

The system got a name but they dont let you say it plainly

Wrap it up in opportunity and training

Taught me that the ceiling was the sky, I entertained the

lie for years until I felt the glass, and I explained it

To my people, they said, "brother, we already knew the weight of it"

The weight of knowing everything while carrying the state of it

The great debate is whether rage or patience is the trait of it

I say both: you need the fire and the patience just to make a shift

The art is knowing when to swing and when to wait for it

When the door cracks open, thats the moment that you break for it

They criminalize the hunger but they celebrate the fake of it

The fake gets the airplay, realness gets a late permit

Im making it anyway the gatekeepers cant take the gift

Cant erase whats been recorded, cant unmake what I create with

Every bar I lay to tape Im taking up the space, lifting

Everything they said was too intelligent to face, shifting

This verse is for the ones who pause and rewind every sentence

Who catch the secondary meaning hiding past the first entrance

The inference beneath the inference, the vengeance

Of precision on the page before it ever meets a presence

Every lesson that I learned came from obsessive second guessing

Every blessing was a test I only passed by addressing

What I feared the most, confessing in the form of art, expressing

What I couldn' say directly, so I wrapped it in a dressing

Metaphor to simile to scheme that kept progressing

Six bars deep and still the rhyme scheme is possessing

Every syllable, the pressure only ever lessening

When I finish, thats the process Ive been stressing

Meta notes that Im in a verse right now that I am professing

Is itself the proof of everything that Ive been expressing

The form is the content, and the content is the blessing

Self referential, yes but not to be impressive

Its to show you that the mediums a message carved in session

Every rapper leaves a fingerprint, a lesson left in question

My fingerprint says nothing real requires aggression

But then again I wrote this whole song as an obsession

Six verses in and I aint scratched the surface of the surface

Every layer that I peel reveals another layer lurking

Purpose driven but the purpose keep on shifting, keep on working

Like a muscle under tension, always aching, always searching

See I said it twice on purpose, searching has a double function

Looking for the truth and looking for the junction

Between who I present and what I keep beneath the construction

Thats the feeling, the feeling sitting in compunction

Really this poetry taught that every word can be a house with extra floors son

While niggas tryna show me hall of mirrors leave 'em asking for more, done

Im standing on the shoulders of the giants before me, torn from

Every page of their tradition, pulled the thread until its worn some

Not stealing, learning, earning every syllable Ive sworn from

The altar of the craft is where I genuflect each morning

And the altars stained with every rapper who ignored the warning

That the pen is not the weapon, its the truth inside the forming

Six verses, no hook, no chorus, no adorning

Just architecture in the dark before the dawning

Bring a Battle, Bring your sharpest blade and sharpest mind in

This is me, the neurons inside my brain, theyre deciding