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Aubergine featuring Fielded
Armand Hammer & The Alchemist featuring Fielded
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Psychiatry started exploring these methods in the nineteenth century
Charcot was interested in the, in the psychiatric disorder called hysteria
And he began using hypnosis, uh, to command away symptoms
Whether these people actually have visions of a past life is not the point
They believe they do
Condition, fortress of conventions
Forced but I saw it as an entrance
A door, knew there were other senses
This is vision with a vengeance, this is radical ascension
This is one for mi kindred, where you at?
This is breath for the winded, clarity if conflicted
Smoke and tarry, then I listen
In the valley, intervention
Take my time, for a spell being strengthened
A renewal, I reflect, I remember
I been gassed, I been runnin' on potential
On a path, I might fast, sweep the temple
Mop the floor, wipe the window, life before life essential
I'm in the now, I'm in the now, I'm in the now, I'm in the now
Inner space, searching central, keepin' tempo
Can't complain, it's the sun I resemble
Many colors streak sky to the East, rise, then repeat
Pink hued like heat peak synthesis
Star circle my vicinity, if you givin', give it willingly
This is cleansing fire co-d, purified by the OZ
Fully charged, I'm a sun, I'm a star
I got range, I know just who I are
Weave what he want and it's still on the one
'Cause I wander don't mean that I'm lost
'Cause I wonder don't mean that I'm stumped
Bending wills to exactly what I want
I been hunted, I been shielded, I feel love here
I feel love here
I feel love here
I feel love here
With the truthfulness, which impressed you, would be ideal
Almost that he himself would just return from the journey
Existed only in his imagination
I send brothers to the store, I keep something in the cupboard
I'm stubborn, I am my mother's love measured in eyedroppers
Burnt rubber from the coppers
The eye doctor leapt, shocked, my third eye
Don't believe me? Just watch my chakras (Still hot at night)
Shots pop in the hills of Caracas
Negroes shoot for the top, I always had poor posture
Traps packed with dead lobsters
Bottom feeders toasting grappa, basic, penne alla vodka
You order off the menu, chef handmade me latkes
I don't care, I don't be countin' niggas' pockets
Westworld niggas re-rebooting, recyclin' the same shooting
Rappers tired, inertia the only thing keep 'em movin'
Glassy-eyed in the stu', that street date looming (You know who)
Toast coriander and cumin
Crush fragrant, slow, circular movements
In the garden, nascent, she let me ate it, I'm only human
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You're home and dry
Combien de fois?
I don't understand franรงais, jeโ
How many times?
Relax, relax, don't be frightened, it's fun
Will you come on a cruise with me to, um...
Only if I have the top berth
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