This is a song about "Relentlessness"

P: his skills and talents as he wields the balance of digesting

P: your spilling malice, feeling phallus, his canvas isn't jesting

I sip malice, from a gold chalice, sittin' smokin' in the rabbit hole with alice.

They're attracted like parallel magnets after your graduate talents

The battlefield is a host of bad ideas and sadness

Too malice to loot his status on mute in his barracks