Reflexión bajo un flexo

Yeah, it’s Arma Blanca. Alright, reflection under a lamp. MC's, stop crying when it’s time to improve. What are you here for? We only have one god to worship, it’s called Hip-Hop.

Just let your imagination fly in the dark. I came to pray between the hours, more pages will be my accomplices. People exploring under a lamp’s glow, I’m that craftsman, my faith is the propeller. Forcing engines drives my pencils, they curse my CD; apprentices won’t make you land, they’ll agonize. No MC, I won’t yield to your mercy, just light this candle that sways to shake things up. Let me slide like a lynx on this surface, another link that grows under a light. My spot in the garden threatens my dawn, with this gene foreign to what’s ruled, on the edge of the image that demands. Just imagine poems taking forms that define me.

In short, an amber lamp; words to give each paragraph its feeling. Time stops, only space separates us. I have no texts out of context, I lend my attention to a budget, and to those I’ve always assumed, who keep living off this. Are you hiding under masks? More expensive the shells that leave a trace. New boxes, I move under bulbs from this chair; yeah, it’s shining. Raps that shoot you down, I don’t see a ribbon. I’m ready, my reflection under this lamp goes through the box office. It’s my power of persuasion, the action by which I conquer you. Sometimes trapped by excess, that’s why there’s no process of creating, I don’t cease. I insist, everything I write will be seen, but that doesn’t make it a mix. An artist just abolishes, I just tense this art, and I plan to leave a verse printed for every view.

It’s the voice of silence and it’s heard in my room. It’s the inheritance of time and I tremble with every song. It’s the prayer in the temple, a kiss and a betrayal. It’s reflection under a lamp, prisoners of an obsession.

It’s the voice of silence and it’s heard in my room. It’s the inheritance of time and I tremble with every song. It’s the prayer in the temple, a kiss and a betrayal. It’s reflection under a lamp, prisoners of an obsession.

It’s under a lamp, in the form of verses, when my creativity is born; the fruit of finding on paper my escape from reality. It’s minimal freedom to find myself, and forget that my life is tied to imperialism. Here I am the quake that reaches your foundations. I’m the rock immune to the erosion of your water and wind. Here time stops, goes back or moves forward as I decide, to the rhythm of beats translated into measured verses. They’re howls that flee from oblivion and silence, here nothing is fictitious, everything happened between buildings, where I avoid influences when I gather clues. Then I meditate and with writings I emit judgments, a craft that was born from intuition to the left of my chest.

Though it may not be appreciated out there, in here, my eyes cry for fear that the work world will steal the necessary hours to bring my calm to your temporary. Even without much improvement, my morale remains intact, every day health snatches me, from that my rescue is agreed. I’m not tired of staying up to find exact answers, and thus not do anything I’d fear retracting. I dedicate myself to collecting truth, defeats and piecing together the fragments in search of that perfection I’m close to today. Here there’s no time for sketches, no stumbles from yawns. If God exists, it’s Hip-Hop, and in this chapel I pray to him.

It’s the voice of silence and it’s heard in my room. It’s the inheritance of time and I tremble with every song. It’s the prayer in the temple, a kiss and a betrayal. It’s reflection under a lamp, prisoners of an obsession.

It’s the voice of silence and it’s heard in my room. It’s the inheritance of time and I tremble with every song. It’s the prayer in the temple, a kiss and a betrayal. It’s reflection under a lamp, prisoners of an obsession.

It’s my bitterest pain, like a dagger in my chest; between narrow paths, a sign on the lookout blinded my eyes. I demand answers and they don’t shine, they’re crosses you see too. Do you know my lights well? Serious the fool, living confused in a hazy sky, and there’s no fusion, just empty speeches and no resources. I caress that thorny flower and it hurts so much, your cloak covers the sky and I see images of horror. Imagine waking up and your world is empty, being in this hell and always feeling the cold. Reaching for the stars, dancing and falling into darkness, that’s why you don’t speak anymore, I live with my own boards.

I carved my commandments there, I’m on the sixth; I detest and export these ideas without pretext. It’s lost in the spiral, look at my steps with escort, I accompany you with an immortal sound. I’m hidden light among clouds, I know you don’t see me, but I’ve always been here. I listened and retained something, my wheel never stopped. Behind my steps, you’ll see the mark of failure that caused some serious case. But I never tire of flowing through dense smoke, thinking of my verses; they’re my kisses against my hate, and I come out unscathed. They’re desires and trophies that I possess inside. What are they? Airstrikes against this empire with serious rap.

It’s the voice of silence and it’s heard in my room. It’s the inheritance of time and I tremble with every song. It’s the prayer in the temple, a kiss and a betrayal. It’s reflection under a lamp, prisoners of an obsession.

It’s the voice of silence and it’s heard in my room. It’s the inheritance of time and I tremble with every song. It’s the prayer in the temple, a kiss and a betrayal. It’s reflection under a lamp, prisoners of an obsession.