Rain Farts (Cypher 8) by Anthrast

Dildos and candles, or kilos of granules, or
pillows of drag-lords, or earlobes in scandals, or
thinners for grans, boozing, pills, boobs, n spam, couldn’t
peel at the face like the words in his hand,

dick to a damsel, or spit from a skank, bawling
children to dads, or tall buildings to vandals,
bitches through prank calls, or swimming in vats, all
still couldn’t peel at the face like his hand

skimming through the jumps in the rhythm when he finds it,
building in a dump, ceiling like a light switch,
with him in the front like the singings an assignment,
women with a bump like he hit um at the bike shed,

little bit of lace, little bit of like this,
little bit of grace, little bit of lightness,
river to a face when he hits um with the right bit,
peeling it away like a villain with a night-stick,

verse one and they’re sitting on the surface,
verse two starts and it’s building with a purpose,
verse three lost dealing with the hearses,
verse four drops and the living get a turn with a

little bit of faith, little bit of violence,
little bit of taste, bitter but the bright red
ribbons of a face when it’s splitting at the eyelids,
peeling it away with the feeling that his mic gives…