[Verse 1]
I’m sick of past/present dichotomy
I pity myself looking at how it is now
I envy myself looking at what it used to be
I am the late elephant from Islamabad
Who was sent here to do a forensic analysis on what we had
Belligerent hashtags and boastful hash puf ing
She’s blushing, like the Karl Marx mural in Shiraz
Listening to Shabazz Palaces
As we passed jarred secrets until we attached like napalm
Used to wish for a clean slate like a clean face after face balm
Missed every baseball, ignored every FaceTime call
I face the time that passed in awe
It’s bittersweet
I bitterly consider the upsides of a lack of continuity
My amygdala grows as I ponder in scrutiny
This song is a eulogy written by every person on this earth
I gave birth to ideas that hurt to think of
I don't make love songs; I don't rekindle broken bonds
We wrote said eulogy in particularly goofy font
There's no room for more gauze
Hip-hop is my religion, and Surrealism is my point of view
So how could I ever be direct or just take myself seriously
The emotional unavailability is far from satiating
The silence is highly revelating
A week in, re-evaluating the logistics
I drank a gallon of squid ink, but I'm still just like you
And that’s the problem, that’s the problem
I'm still just like you, I'm still just like you, uh
I drunk a gallon of squid ink, but I'm still just like you
And that’s the problem, that’s the problem
I'm still just like you, I'm still just like you, uh

[Verse 2]
I’m sick of past/present dichotomy
The transformation from a human to a commodity or a service
Before I was honest I was nervous
A message is enough for unwanted ghouls to resurface
Goosebumps on the epidermis, the thermostat exploded
The modem overheated, the old man decided it’s time to be seated
The seedling hid from the flowers; it felt anything but empowered
I always have a gun pointed at my ears, not my head but my ears
I revel in comfort and search for perfect key lime pies in fear, in fear
I shed a lot of non-existent tears
I’m the most emotional, emotionally unavailable guy
Here’s the entrance to the void where potential comes to die
And if you slip you can potentially die, no lie
I tried, if it ever mattered, repeat it five times in a memorable pattern
We can both be quiet and act like nothing ever happened
But stars collide unwillingly; we are done with the past
But the past isn't done with the present; here’s a present
Open it; it’s Occam's razor; we had left it in a secluded orphanage
Orpheus’ poems ring so loud the ears explode, even the cartilage

[Outro]
Yeah, you know
Orpheus’ poems ring so loud the ears explode even the cartilage
No one has an impenetrable tolerance, especially not me
Especially not me, definitely not me, no no no

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Written by Cyrus Mirrors
Performed by Cyrus Mirrors
Produced by Cyrus Mirrors
Engineered by Cyrus Mirrors
Artwork by Cyrus Mirrors
Recorded at the ominous Globe Al-South headquarters (my room)

Released independently by Globe Al-South Records

My Last Surgery

Inner Circle

A poet from half the world, who's a young disciple of the ghostface wordsaladists, the awakeners of mummified martyrs, and those who spiritually peel pomelos in the name of anti-imperialism. Misery to the mainstream, glory to the Globe Al-South, and peace to you, beloved!

Contact.CyrusMirrors@gmail.com