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

Thistle in the sock, thorn in the shoe,
I walk like fire trying not to bloom.

ooooooooo…

I wake with a jaw like a padlock tight,
bruise-blue sky and a fist of light.
Temper’s a tether, round and round,
tongue like a tinder, teeth like a sound.
Pulse says “push,” but the kettle says “slow,”
steam does a sermon only kitchens know.
Street grit, split lip, pride on show, 
I call it a shield; it calls me low.
Anger’s a circle with a sugar rim,
sweet for a second, then bitter in.
Bites at the tail where the poison lives,
asks me to pay what the silence gives.

Hand on the drum, breathe, lad, breathe.

Leave what bleeds, keep what frees.

My fury bites its bright green tail,

slow and patient, slimy snail.

Soft and slow this anger grow,

This love with nowhere left to go.

Say you see? You say you know?
Careful, words can salt the snow.

Don’t dress a wound to make a show,
Soft voice: stay near, stay clear, let kindness flow.

I’ve thrown voice like a bottle in a cul-de-sac,
round it goes, just comes back.
Chewed on the steel of a swallowed “why,”
called it a spine, but it was a lie.
Rage is a dog on a mirrored floor,
runs at its ghost and finds no door.
Tongue wants scorch, heart wants bread,
hands want work that warms instead.
I don’t need sermons that pat my hair,
I need a chair, a cuppa, care.
Count to ten? Mate, count to rain,
let it knock on the tin of your ribcage pain.

Foot to earth, heel, toe, heel.

Name the feeling; don’t let it deal.

My fury bites its bright green tail,

slow, deliberate, garden snail.

Soft and slow this anger grow,

Love with nowhere safe to go.

You say you “get it,” say it’s fate,

words like gates that close too late.

If you can’t carry, then don’t compel;

keep your calm;

I’ll keep my well.

Thistle toe, missile-throw, I’m done with that old show.
Breathe below the collarbone, 
let the colder weather go.
Circle sharp?
I blunt it slow.
Loop that bites?
I teach it no.

Hush the blade, hold the thread,
tame the red, bake the bread.

Alright then, torch down, open palm,
let the morning do its balm.
Anger’s a bell I ring too long;
today I’ll listen for the song.
Give me a job that forgives the day, 
wash one dish, put one word away.
If grief’s the ghost that sets the pace,
I’ll keep a corner at the table place.
I am not kinder for swallowing flame;
I’m kinder for learning to say its name.
So when the spin begins to throw,
I plant my foot and let wind blow.

My fury bites its bright green tail,

slow and patient, little snail.

Soft and slow this anger grow,

till love can find a way to go.

If I must choose between burn and bond,

choose the hand, the hearth, the pond.

Round we drum, but not to break,
we drum to mend what mornings make.

If the thorn says “run,” I’ll lace my pace.

If the circle snaps, we’ll stitch with grace.

Heel, toe, let the thistle know:
we’re more than what we overthrow.

thistle toe

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thistle toe

Dancing salamanders

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