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lyrics

Terrible with names, terrible with numbers. I’m fairly good with words, but I'm scared i’m getting dumber. A jailbird in a cage. I know. that sounds redundant. The sailor rides a wave at the mercy of its current. We fail to see the maze if we were born behind the locks and never go outside at all or float above its walls. A puzzle ain’t a problem if we never think to solve it or there’s rarely resolution without conflict. Pick a posture. 
And she’d never seen her wedding ring so frail. Hesitant to measure what the chemistry entails. Emotionally distant, mentally a veil falls, heavily to hide what she desires. Ensnared. The weather guides her sails while the heavens seem impervious. Presently the evidence suggests a higher purpose in this spent machine. Endlessly exhausting its inertia then regurgitating learned behavior. She saves her bold assertions for her selfless attempts to embellish her distant empathy while expending her spiritual energy. Anyway, the oceans leads the vessel and the vessel leaves its signature. A choice is an impression or an imprint. Significant or lost in the enigma of probable insignificance. She can’t offer autonomy if she didn’t have it to begin with. And if she let her herself admit that it’s all simple addition she’d surmise it never really made a difference, did it?

I reside in the pressure of the tempest.
Wild gales to guide my tired sails.
My confines stretch with the weather.

I reside in the pressure of the tempest.
Stern to horns succumb to perfect storms. 
Such a turbulent temptress.

Jesus was a carpenter. Joseph was a cuckold. He’d teach his son to carve then watch him grow to be a sculptor. The kingdom came with martyrdom. The soldiers, on a payroll. Point your pieces at the harbinger; he’s quoting an untouchable. If you’re a child of God, the morning star’s your uncle. A poorly drawn impression of what mom and dad had hoped for. Good lord. Son of a run of the militant step daughter. Presumption is assuming your you’re nemesis’s next target, or that your enemies ever noticed your game enough to drop their better senses and vengefully focus their aim. To suppose you’ve made an impression or that you’re more than a name or a face to your rivals is hopelessly vain. “So brave, too young,” they used to repeat. “Don’t stay too long— you’ll get used to the heat. But don’t stray too far from your usual sheep, either, cowering in line is a fruitful routine,” they say. Ask yourself what your community needs. If you choose to leave now in pursuit of dream you'll return one sullen day to resume your defeat, but if she never takes the risk she’d just as soon be asleep so she set for the seas without a treasure map or skipper. Wet behind the ears as she whetted her conviction. Her apparent winding and unwinding was celestial misdirection so she surrendered to the mistral.

I reside in the pressure of the tempest.
Wild gales to guide my tired sails.
My confines stretch with the weather.

I reside in the pressure of the tempest.
Stern to horns succumb to perfect storms. 
Such a turbulent temptress.

I reside in the pressure of the tempest.
Wild gales to guide my tired sails.
My confines stretch with the weather.

I reside in the pressure of the tempest.
Stern to horns succumb to perfect storms. 
Such a turbulent temptress.

Get caught up in a whirlwind with no promise of a journey’s end and throw caution to the hurricane.

credits

from Pressure of the Tempest, released March 9, 2020

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WATKK is an independent hip-hop label curating unapologetically unique music.

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