There was a man sent from God whose name was John, the smoke of his words rising from the bull of bronze, testifying to the light which comes into the world while cloaked in the shadows and disguised as a worm. He said, “Among you stands one whom you do not know, so unfurl the tents and prepare for the show, roll out the ropes and tie the corners to the stakes, tighten the lines until your muscles ache, until you break, not a moment to rest, stay awake, and in the end you’ll all get a share of the take.”

Machinatio fidei
Exi hoc secure
Cremem in lumine mei
Satanae laudem reddere

Ravenous doctrine keeping time on the backs of weary gods wrapped up like Ramses in strips of cerecloth, chained in rows, tattered clothes, without a claim to the throne, marched out from the Vatican by their gracious hosts. Overturning the gravestones, leaving ruin in their wake, first fell the Romans then came the Crusades, their rusted blades scaffolds for the viscera of the dead, their faces chalk white from the bones they ingest.

I saw the Spirit descend from Heaven like a dove, he offered us a sermon from a mountain of dung, sharp-tongued, unstrung, building the pressure like an iron lung, high on drugs, he tells us to break out the guns. Now he’s got them raving, flag-waving, no longer worth saving, feeding their craving for hatred and misbehaving, depraved and baying, mouths gaping, minds fading, hearts caving, drooling and shaking from the fumes they’re inhaling.

And the Word became flesh, and the flesh became the Lamb, and the Lamb prayed for death, and death said to face the facts, and the Lamb gave out bread while the masses watched the circus act, signed their contracts, elected bureaucrats, looked away and then turned their backs.

---

Photo by Garett Mizunaka on Unsplash

Machinatio Fidei

Charge card ringing up, your marred farce can’t keep up
My gnarled heart rounds ‘em up, suck it up, buttercup
Set ‘em up, knock ‘em down, it’s dark in the charnel house
Shoudn’t let your guard down, I reign like a dark cloud

Wake up in a box, time stopped on the clocks
Eyes on the tops of the tables with the props
Rub your eyes, call the cops, ‘cause you want it all to stop
But it’s me who calls the shots, I’m the key, you’re the lock

Mood’s fickle, up nights like Travis Bickle
Flick my knife, live or die, not sure, I’ll flip a nickle
I’m whimsical, you’re flimsical
On a whim sickle to your head, watch the blood trickle
Couldn’t be civil? I bristle. No acquittal.

The god you worship looks pale and green
Like moldy cheese or a January Christmas tree
Plenary indulgences, the cost for your greed
And quotes from a book turned one-eighty degrees

I’m a cursed god, till the dead sod, running roughshod, I was outlawed when the ice thawed, with my bones gnawed, in a white cloth, on the night watch writing PSYOP, like a sly fox, fighting dry rot, building pipe bombs for the death squad, it’s a deadlock, got some chest bronze, and a dry cough

Sycophantic chicanery, I like awake dreaming 
As you lie about the murder rate, dress up the scenery
You’re not worth redeeming, propping up the machinery
While the orphans are freezing, and the corpses are screaming

---

Photo by Aleksey Oryshchenko on Unsplash

Plenary (Prod. Mides)

Elite bars, hard beats that eat hearts, I preach and snarl
Weed carcasses in my garden, my liege is carnal
Allegiances harmful to the heartless, predilections martial
A marred shell shining in darkness, controversial and ireful

A pied piper leading liars to the pyre, a prideful rhymer
Lighting the skies like Vishnu or Robert Oppenheimer
Fighting to break through, I rob copper from the doomsday timer
Accrue nukes from Fiverr, get them wired, then light the primer
 
In thirteen countries, a threat to the hegemony
Thinking bluntly, mindset contaminates like leprosy
They must be scared of me, they tuck their tails and bare their teeth
Beliefs that can’t bear the threat of heresy

Diagenesis, my words coalesce from sediment
Organ chords from an organon, conveying the sentiment
Then I send it, I meant it, malcontented
Blessings of a heretic who never repented

A heretic that harries you
An arrogance that buries you

Ochre and hematite painted, my case stated
Contra Iranaeum, each point demonstrated
Counting three times in base five to ten
Pen words like each one paid a cent
Crammed in my den, hammer them out like dents

---

Photo by Ivan Bandura on Unsplash

Diagenesis

(instrumental)

PURCHASE: https://www.beatstars.com/beat/storm-system-8466461
EMAIL: oldenemyhiphop@gmail.com

Storm System

PURCHASE: https://www.beatstars.com/beat/reverence-8485244
EMAIL: oldenemyhiphop@gmail.com

Contact me if you're interested in purchasing this as an exclusive.

Reverence

An energetic trap beat inspired by the indigenous music of South Africa

Aavikon tuli

A year awake on the watch, on the roof like a dog, making peace with the gods, penning the words of my epilogue, scanning the trees for a vision of fire, ignite the pyre, give me the sign I require. The stars I know by heart, no need of map or chart, I refuse to play the part they’ve cast for me, they don’t know what cometh hence on the wings of night, but as yet remains only darkness in my sight.

Truth be told, I’ve always felt old, I’m not sure what day that I woke up in the cold, sold my soul, put it on remote control, looked deep inside for the glowing coal, and found my role. Out in the playground, an old soul in a child’s body, but time stopped when the pine box became a samadhi.

---

My entry for Cypher vol. 7 on r/makinghiphop. Instrumental by Kaseboy Advance Beats: https://soundcloud.com/kaseboy-advance-beats/up-all-night

Pine Box (Cypher #7)

Celebratory, masked, the wraiths of dancers in the past, seeing visions in the glass, witch grass covering the land, burning myrrh to mask the scent of something old and rotten and wet coming ‘round again like double zero on the roulette, long forgotten in a tomb, hierophant of cosmic doom, and others yet to be exhumed whence the graveyard roses bloom. You’ve forgotten what you know, you put the plough before the hoe, you tried to reap before you’d sowed, and now you’ll only feed the crows.

When the bells have rung their last
When the famine turns to fast
When the lamentations past
When the flags are all half mast
At the coming of the storm
At the humming of the swarm
You are calling out my name tonight
I’m a skin without a drum
I’m a child without a crumb
I was wondering when you’d come
I was wondering when you’d come
Time to tabulate the sum
Time to let myself feel numb
You are calling out my name tonight

Projecting my dreams on the walls of my cell, I drank to your health at the sound of the bell, hearing voices I’d only heard on the other side of hell.

The mirror shatters, the glass clatters, in rags and tatters, mad laughter like the mad hatter and only nightmares follow after.

Pacing and irrational, compensation is fractional, I grasp the ungraspable, transform it, sing it like a madrigal.

Manacles made of the bones of cormorants, shadows on the walls and voices reverberant, calling the ninety-nine names of God to the firmament. This is how I had learned of it. 

---

Photo by Jez Timms on Unsplash

Oh yeah btw no loops on this one, I play every instrument.

Calling Out My Name

An old Satanic veteran raps about religion and revolution.

Old Enemy

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