A Warped Sense Of Logic
by Professor Freedom

Inspired by nothing but something in mind, digging through crates of thought to find, space for knowledge and room for rent. Using my pen as a literal vent. To escape the madness in my brain, warping ideas inside insane, to get it out and about the air, spreading viruses everywhere, over here and over there. I think I thunk a thought repair.

To patch the hole within my soul, turning an inside outward goal, to reach, that is, what I just said, continuing time while not to be dead. Simply to learn how not concern. And how you be? I be fine, I'm trying to explain a brain rewind. But I find best, what seems to work, keep yourself bound to go berzerk. And in this way, you'll find that too, just think this backward sidewards through, out of all chaos seems to come true, dreams can be false if thats what you do. But light can turn back, when black is on track, like a freight train of thinking the thoughts you might lack.

How is the question we seem to ask why? Is everything Dead or alive to let Die? And if this is so, what's in the sky? A universal cloud of knowledge sigh? Or a mental blockage when the pigs fly by? Well I think this is what you think that, an enlightening scilent schizophrenic attack, a message to you derailed off track, maintaining a dropkick of mentally smack. Finally concluding the end of the top, yellowish green light, red light stop. I suppose to detenate the mental flip flop but if you're still following the bomb is drop.

Melting my eyes to get in your soul, cause I got the key to your key lock hole, and maybe once again the rock might roll, and create some sound like the days of old. But aside from that, now be this, science is taking control of bliss, and situations of late to create dismis could return around for a final kiss. Some space, some time, some ryme, some luck, regret, unwind, be kind, get stuck, in patterns of life, remorse and gain, controlling tetristic mechanical blame, that comes from the sun, but not quite in vain, for all of us see that we're not the same.

If potentially E Equals MC squared, thinking in ryme the brain gets scared, relatively speaking the math is shared inside the womb when a child is beared. But out of all of this, comes one good thing, Who knows what theories the child may bring. Focus on fetus development ching, eye for one have been forced to sing. Explaining the highs, knowing the lows, experimenting chemical imballence flows. And this we knows from the way it goes, the fire ignights when cranium glows.

Thru-ought the recent events at hand, studying light in mindless land, I might forget the masteroud plan, exsisting in pieces as we stand, under a wave of brains in slave, to work for years in light of grave. But why and how is up to now. Studying ways the rythems endow, absorbing power from all around, eating thoughts and writting them down.

So as I trip, flippant in time, following research close to mine, I find that wisdom is made from God, Devil humus and Brain Sod, but intellect is a form of the soul the heart returns for mind gold, food for thought, the spine is bold, transmitting signals new and old, making room for what is sold, everything is turning cold. The devil must have a lust for life, this is why he carries a knife, but no to fret, here comes the sun, praise the lord! God has a Gun.