right before it started i parted ways with the hasty waste of space. peeling like a ghost in a shell, i craft the latest spell and pass the class with an A plus in rhymes just to be saved by the bell of times. this is three thousand thirty, there ain't no time for dirty thirties and flirty shirtless birdies. i've cultivated the cross through a study and i've brought a buddy. he's an automator, without a translator. a sound man out of time without a portal that's been properly primed. teleport the talent to a patient station, await the treatment to defeat the inflation of reserved temptations. i am your brother by trait, but i fear to become a brother you hate. i tickle fate with a feather while you sit fickle and contemplate a state in your sector. real brothers that feel effect of this reality are crazy. being lazy is shrouded with hazy phases that cloud your common places. this year, the phrase is discrete, a dismal defeat in a year better buried in concrete. we deny the race because we are cursed unto this place. in this particular case, it's clear. it's just a veer in direction. a reflection of affection. knowing that no matter the strain from afar, there remains a fate in the shatter of a dying star.