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

You are matter, as they are.
See how perfectly it can be done.
Hold, one day more, what is asked.

One can easily hear a domestic silence
Which was afraid of bothering the broom
I’m lost again. I lost my common sense.
Hello, room. Did you keep the light for us?

I meet my name in the mirror of glass,
motes drift, small planets in a patient mass.
A spider plant leans like a green-bowed priest,
roots in a jar where the sun breaks east.
Pebbles on the sill, cold verses of stone,
each one a pocket where I once felt known.
Toy saints line up with their painted vows,
tin-sized halos and bent plastic brows.

Windowsill monastery, vows in light;
we keep them softly, morning to night.

Cup with a crack and a dandelion stem,
water remembers the hand that held them.
Sticker-flaked frame with a seaside sky,
I press my cheek to the glass and try.
Who am I here in the hush of this place?
A moth with a map made of dust and grace.
Why am I here in this wide, bright frame?
To practice the sunshine and say my name.

Windowsill monastery, quiet and clear;
we lay down our smallness and call it “dear.”

Clock with no battery still keeping a prayer,
hands held together like they’re learning to care.
Books breathing softly, their spines like ribs,
pages are lanterns with whispering fibs.
Pebble rosary, six stones across,
counting the patience that outlives loss.
I set one word upon each round face:
mercy, marrow, mystery, place.

Toy saint of Courage has a scuffed-off crown,
she stands by the succulent, never sits down.
Saint of Small Sleep with a felt-tip smile,
guards the night window from thought’s long mile.
If I am a question the daylight wrote,
then you are the margin that keeps it afloat.
If I am a seed, then the sill is soil,
name me with sunlight, soften my toil.

Who am I?
A lamp in the leaf.
Why am I here?
To learn gentle belief.
How do I start?
Put your palm in the sun.
Breathe like a bell till the breathing is done.

Windowsill monastery, plant, stone, saint;
we practice staying when the heart feels faint.
Windowsill monastery, simple and bright;
we trade our hurry for a thread of light.

I came back older than the dust I see,
I came back lighter than the loss in me.
Pebbles remember the roads we crossed,
Leaves keep the hymns that the winter lost.
I drink the silence by windowsill glass,
I taste the hours the shadows pass.
Who… am… I… here… / Why… am… I… here…
Answer: this light that arrives sincere.

Windowsill monastery, ours for a while;
we let the room rename us child.
Windowsill monastery, nothing to prove;
we lean toward sun and learn to move.

I’ll keep the pebbles where the warm comes in.
I’ll keep the questions. We’ll begin again.

windowsill monastery

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windowsill monastery

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