Open Book - The Four Owls, Jam Baxter

Lights down low so the mood turns ambient

Visions transcend but the time length’s transient

Void of the camera lens poised with the valiant

Stallion style on the beat when I’m banging it

Rap brings cures like oil from the cannabis

In the zone, no objects inanimate subjects comparative

I open your passages, vinyl spin round slowly expose the narratives

Get the pen then I desecrate sampling, used to be blank now the pattern style’s

epic

Mad psychedelic don’t rap hypothetic, sleep paralysis leaves the body lying

severed

Elevating presence in a setting unmeasured, messages develop like photogenic

evidence

Unfold your relevance compose my sentiment stone cold but excellent

I walk the lines to the beat hand style flares around with my thoughts like I’m

living in side of my speech

Painting a horizon under my feet, or a sunset, drawing out the things I haven’t

done yet

Or I scribble it out then walk away from the mess jump to the right side,

one flick and It’s out of your head

New page, new day but It’s still the same book man, a never ending verse with

no chorus or hook plan

Now there’s three me’s, we’re sat in the conference agreed no regrets but being

followed by my conscience see it on the paper as a grey cloud of nonsense

That’s drawn by myself it come to life and it wants some, jumping over full

stops like I’ve got a stutter

Something «dot dot» the honest ramblings of a nutter

I feel the breeze blow but my pages don’t flutter

End with a «Dear John» or and «Oh dear» that’s muttered

Dreaming I can picture It, feeling like an idiot

Strapped in the pad again, sat tryna manifest

Spark isn’t happening, Dark and it’s maddening

Venturing into new parts of the labyrinth

Then I break through the wall to the other side

Pen to the page, then I see colours bright

Thoughts come alive, pen turns Arctic freezing

To the summertime, my book glows gold

Lines rise from the page and become mountains

See the world as I climb to the top shouting

Trend followers narrowing their view got shine but you’re dead like a Pharaoh

in their tomb

Jamming in my room but this page is a portal

I could be anywhere, mind is resourceful

As I dive into the beat stay

Balanced on a wave

Call spirits, tryna channel them again

I spent this session with my face on fire feeling flammable as fuck

One gallon in my gut

Picking goz out my nostril and packaging them up

What’s in the crust of reality or what now

How you gonna peck at it’s impeccable veneer

With a cold, wet, wasp nest nestled in your ear

I press play, built an altar in the corner

And sat there waiting for the Devil to appear

Now, your neighbour heard wastemen are hiring

The machines in your midst are conspiring

I cleaned out the cage

Wiewing every last page as a rat chewing holes in the wiring

I fed them the electrics

Smouldering inside

Penny for the ramblings, ripples in the mind

Worlds in the distance collapse and collide

Burn through the building, I’ll meet you outside (yeah)

Anything I write comes to life like the death notes

Staring at my pen real strange when this shit spoke, no joke

Told me the elaborate ways of how to turn the canvas into a open page

It’s going insane again can’t pretend, got stranger when the sky starts moving

and all my walls bend

Words flying from the book that I recommend, page looking like a black hole,

stepping in

To the emptiness following the snare like a no calculation the dimension is on

another level

That resides in the heart from the first sound of the ground hitting to the

back everybody in here holds the key to the art

That includes you too just find ways to start, bring light to the dark

I awake in my room, for the last seven days I’ve been playing the same tune