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

Lludd and Llyfelys (c.1200–1250)
When three strange plagues descend upon Britain—ghosts stealing sound, an endless shriek, and food vanishing from every table—King Lludd seeks the counsel of his brother Llyfelys. Through riddles and wisdom, they uncover the truth behind the chaos and restore balance to the land. A tale of mystery, brotherhood, and disruption resolved through intellect rather than war.

They silenced speech, rewired sound, and fed us hollow promises. Two rulers play their roles, but one mad voice watches from the cracks—bearing witness to a world losing language, truth, and meaning. “Three Things” is the song of that fool in the square: a manifesto in rhythm, a final fire in the age of static. A warning, a plea, a question you must choose to hear.

Two brothers sit on borrowed thrones,
Heads crowned with fire, hearts made of phones.
The plagues come quiet, then loud, then gone—
But who sees the cracks before the dawn?

They call me mad.
But I remember when the air still hummed with truth.
Now it just flickers.
Whispers.
Gone.

Three things cannot be long hidden: 
the sun, 
the moon, 
and the truth

They came not with guns but with silence first,
Ghosts in wires, dressed like thirst.
Thoughts erased mid-sentence—click—reset.
Now no one questions what they forget.
I watched them steal the words from screens,
Then from mouths, then from dreams.
A language lost, not with blade but blink,
Now even poets forget how to think.
I screamed in alleys. Nobody heard.
I painted warnings in crumbling words.
They called me prophet, called me freak—
But still, they scroll. And never speak.
They said it was safety. Said it was choice.
But I saw the shadow behind the voice.
One world order, smile on the mask,
“Freedom,” they whispered. “Just don’t ask.”

Say what you’re told.
Forget what you knew.
They’ve silenced your questions
Before they reached you.
They came in the night,
Took silence for truth—
Now the only sound
Is what they choose.

The second plague screamed through every street,
But no one moved. Just clenched their teeth.
Sirens stacked on sirens, drones in clouds,
Windows cracked and babies howled.
Was it rage? Was it grief?
Or just feedback from belief?
Every night the shrieking grew,
'Til the only truth was noise-brand-new.
Lludd said, “Broadcast hope.”
Llevelys said, “Silence scope.”
But they both bowed low to the same white throne—
Hands washed clean in algorithm foam.
And I stood beneath the screaming sky,
Whispers melted from my eye,
The sound was not a scream at all—
Just all the things we didn’t call.
“Trust the stream,” they said on air.
So we drowned
With perfect care.

Who writes the script
When no one sees the page?
Who profits most
From panic staged?

Listen to the hum.
Listen to the spin.
They sell you fear
With a plastic grin.
Shriek in your sleep,
Starve in your name.
But trust the hands
That lit the flame.

Then came hunger. But the shelves were full—
Of plastic fruit, and policy bull.
Empty plates dressed up like meals,
They fed us data, numbed our feels.
Farms bought out, the soil sold thin,
The harvest lost beneath the spin.
They said, “It’s fine. There’s apps for that.”
While mothers boiled dreams in vats.
I watched a man eat cardboard slow,
Just to feel his stomach grow.
No riots. No revolt.
Just hands in prayer that no one wrote.
The kings held meetings far from view,
Spoke of hope and markets new.
And still the fool sat in the square,
Feeding birds what wasn’t there.

They took your voice.
They stole your sight.
They fed you ghosts
And called it right.
But I still walk.
And I still write.
And I still burn
Without their light.

You reading this? You still awake?
Or did the static finally take
The part of you that used to dream—
Before the codes and dopamine?
Ask yourself—who benefits
When silence tastes like safety kits?
When food is fake, and thought’s a crime,
And kings recite your lines in time?
I am not your hero here.
I’m just the mirror smeared with fear.

Three things

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

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Three things

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