Sometimes the truth can deceive, but I put the notes on the staff on an endless replay. Working hard is a steep price to pay; the taste of revenge is all too bitter. I go into the dark, seeking shelter, looking for the lighthouse, separating true life from real and mere money. It's the drama of the precarious that narrates the documentary; choose whether to know or remain unaware. Work hard, don’t put on airs, don’t step aside as if defeated, convinced to carry on, amid sacred principles and sacrifices, is a stage equivalent to the talent that seems like a bipolar split. Break the chains of the mind; as life veers off and then comes back abruptly, I don’t want to write a story for those who forget it, but truly live every story of mine so that it is authentic. Getting back up is often painful, sometimes putting a stone on top, but not a philosopher's stone. I see the human potential crumbling, the strength generated is in chaos like the leviathan. Come on, it happens. You did it too. You went home blue, boo, avatar. Raise those hands up; I’ll sell you the crap as bijou. As long as you’re there inside. Bye. Phoniks - Rap For Hours