Don't Care

Fuzziekiss & THEHOMEBOIII - Don't Care

y u so me4n

eyes open before i go (prod.shadow)

The air hums low with whispers of thought,
A canvas stretched, her brushlines caught.
The café buzzes, but she’s somewhere far,
Lost in a world where symbols are stars.

"What stories linger in the curve of her hand?
What secrets unfold in the lines she’s planned?"

Her brush moves slow, like a dancer’s grace,
Tracing a serpent with a human face.
The sun and moon, a union bold,
Bound by chains of silver and gold.

"What does it mean, the dragon’s tongue?
The wheel that turns where the stars are hung?"

"It’s the circle of time, the world own game,
The search for truth, for a hidden flame."

Through the twelve gates, where the riddles gleam,
A sacred path, a golden dream.
Lead to silver, silver to gold,
The right and perfect meanes unfold.

The colors shift as the story grows,
A phoenix rises where the poppy blows.
She tilts her head, the brush held tight,
"It’s the ashes reborn in the fire’s light."

"And what of the stone, the one they seek?
Does it live in this scroll, in words they speak?"

"The stone’s not found in the gold they crave,
It’s the heart that loves, the soul that’s brave."

Through the twelve gates, where the symbols play,
A sacred science to light the way.
Lead to silver, silver to gold,
The right and perfectest meanes retold.

Her eyes alight with the fire she stokes,
A story lives in the art she evokes.
The serpent coils where the eagle flies,
An ouroboros of infinite ties.

"She paints a world where the broken mend,
A map of hope, where circles end."

"Are you lost in thought, or lost in me?
The symbols speak if you choose to see."

The dragon breathes, the phoenix sings,
The cycle turns where the fire clings.
"We’re all brave, in our own way,
Turning grief to light, to find the day."

"And you, the artist, the keeper of dreams,
Show me the truth in these gilded streams."

She hands him the brush, his fingers still,
"Add your mark, wherever you will."
He draws a line, where the rivers meet,
A quiet echo, soft and sweet.

"You’ve gilded the stream with a silver gleam,
Now it’s part of our daring dream."

"Together we build what the world can’t see,
A map of hope, a legacy."

Through the twelve gates, where the secrets hide,
A sacred path where love abides.
Lead to silver, silver to gold,
The right and perfectest meanes unfold.

The brush lays down, the colors blend,
The story told, yet it won’t end.
In every mark, a piece of flame,
The right and perfectest meanes remain.

The Right and Perfectest Meanes

inside?

Yeah, Im Flexin

with me (ft. xykho)

Så lunka vi så småningom
Från Bacchi buller och tumult,
När döden ropar, Granne kom,
Ditt timglas är nu fullt.
Du Gubbe fäll din krycka ner,
Och du, du Yngling, lyd min lag,
Den skönsta Nymf som åt dig ler
Inunder armen tag.

First up, mate on the 3:12 train,
Rain on the window, steams up the pane.
Slumped in his hoodie, boots untied,
Dreams of a holiday, budget denied.
Calendar packed, phone battery dead,
But still he smiles, lifts up his head.
Life ain’t perfect, but hear what I say—
Breathe deep, love, it’s just another day.

Tycker du att dagen är för lång,
Trångt kontor och dresscode tvång
nå, välan än så hör då denna sång.
ta dig sen dito en, dito två, dito tre,
så går det lättare.

See her there, oat latte and toast,
Posting her brekkie, “I love me” post.
Ring light halo, filter glow,
Underneath it all, she’s just tryna grow.
Swaps her heels for battered flats,
Walks home alone past streetlamp splats.
Café philosophers, heart on sleeve,
Little sips of courage before she leaves.

You ever feel that weight?
Like you’re carrying sky bricks in a Tesco bag?
Same, mate. Keep walking.

Tycker du att världen känns för stor,
nå, välan så spring från storebror,
ta dig sen dito en, dito två, dito tre,
så går det lättare.

Old gent down the allotment rows,
Whispers to his tomatoes as they grow.
Wool cap, flask, Radio Wales hum,
Weather app says rain but the sun’s still come.
He lost someone once, don’t talk much,
Tends the soil with a gentle touch.
Weeds or wildflowers? Who’s to say?
All of us bloom in our own weird way.

Young lad skint, pockets all bare,
Friday pint ‘cos he still don’t care.
Mates on the WhatsApp, banter’s alive,
Takes the long route home just to survive.
Council flat lights, moon on the wall,
Swears at the stars but forgives them all.
Life ain’t golden, but still it’s bright,
Even cold chips taste good at midnight.

Tycker du att skatten är för hög,
Lön som aldrig dög, hela livet sög
nå, välan ta så chill drill, puff puff pass
ta dig sen dito en, dito två, dito tre,
så går det lättare, ser du de?

Parent at 4AM, bleary-eyed stare,
Rocking the baby, whispered prayer.
Milk-stained T-shirt, “We’re alright, yeah?”
Heartbeat lullaby fills the air.
One day they’ll grow, dance on their own,
But tonight you’re together, safe, homegrown.
Lean into the moment, don’t rush through,
Even messy love is the purest true.

Tycker du att natten är för lång,
Mata, byta, gång på gång.
nå, välan ta dig då en stund,
ta dig sen dito en, dito två, dito tre,
så hittar du tillbaka till dig själv lättare.

Säg är du nöjd? min granne säg,
Så prisa värden nu till slut;
Om vi ha en och samma väg,
Så följoms åt; drick ut.
Men först med vinet rött och vitt,
För vår Värdinna bugom oss,
Och halkom sen i graven fritt,
Vid aftonstjärnans bloss.

Song for dinner

Fazekas x 8jaxx - What I want

Vogue

How is hot and the sun burns today,
Like ginger, what I see on my plate.

All is past, can repeat it again,
Ginger’s sun may tell to the same.

Where’s a life that existed before,
Look around, stones and stories, no more.

It’s a chance, take this wise in your way,
Ginger’s sun was the same in Prometheus days.

My marmelade was tasty, only ginger too much,
Even tears came out, orange juice saved my lunch.

Match-head dawn on the sill, small fire learns to stay,
backyard breath on the grill of a brand-new day.
I stole one spark from the dark of the night I knew,
held it cupped in a hush till the hush burned through.
Every step has a seam where the tender splits,
every word has a wheel with a missing bit.
If you’ve never worn winter inside your bones,
don’t call a glacier rain just to sound well-known.

You say you “get it,” but your echo’s thin,
a key-shaped sentence with no teeth to spin.

Oh I see, you see, you know, enough to tell me so;
tell me you know exactly what it’s like to walk this hike so slow.
Maybe after all you say it’s “better off this way”,
you think that’s balm, but it’s a calm that sweeps the truth away.
You know what I think? I think that’s something said to speak,
absence dressed in syllables, the meaning left complete,
ly missing. Every utter shaped like a heart,
breaks my will in little shards and pulls the shape apart.
Crumbs on a trail where you fail, fail to see:
this is not empathy.

Hearth-math, child-path, schoolyard oath and skinned-knee grace,
lemon peel in water glass, sun-lines on a face.
Calcine sorrow down to ash, let what’s false combust;
sublime a breath, distill a truth, precipitate a trust.
Coagulate the scattered bits, let mercy make a whole,
salt the rim of what you say so words can keep their soul.
If you haven’t held a night that bit back twice,
don’t call my furnace “warm” and then advise.

Don’t lay a blanket phrase on a burning floor,
if you won’t wade in, don’t name my shore.

Oh I see, you see, you know, so easy said, so neat;
but comfort speaks in circles when the center’s heat.
“Maybe it’s better this way”, you lay that line like gauze;
the cloth looks kind, but underneath is pause.
You say it just to say it, just to smooth the room,
a perfumed nothing drifting like a plume.
Each tender-looking, heart-shaped part you start
tugs seams and makes a lace of me, then tears the lace apart.
Crumbs on a trail where you fail, fail to see:
this is not empathy.

Home is a crucible; love is a law;
ethos and telos in the ember I saw.
I keep a coal for the cold and the small,
not for display, not to prove I won’t fall.
If you would listen, listen like hands,
not like a mouth rehearsing its plans.

Promise is a promontory, windy and high,
you don’t bring flags there, just a quiet “try.”
Bring your bucket, fetch the well, sit near the stove;
learn the work of tending what you say you love.
Ask for the story, then carry a side,
don’t hold the lantern only for the pride.
If the ache repeats until you finally hear,
it’s not the ache that’s cruel; it’s the borrowed ear.

If you can’t step in, at least don’t steer,
let silence learn its shape from staying near.

Oh I see, you see, you know, if knowing means you’ll stay;
walk the long, long hill beside me, match my breath and sway.
Maybe after all we say, we’ll find a better way,
not better for the story, better for the day.
Speak only what you’ll shoulder, let the empty go;
hollow comfort kills the spark we need to grow.
If your words wear hearts, then let them beat with me,
or say no words and keep good company.
Crumbs on the trail become bread if we eat,
break it with me; that is empathy.

I promise: you do not know what hell on earth is like.
And if you want to help, bring water, stay, and strike the light.

Not every blaze needs speech to live; let quiet hands apply.
Where talk would steal the oxygen, breathe close, and keep me by.

promethean promise

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promethean promise

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