New song entitled “Dash” which is exclusively featured on Different Kitchen’s 11th anniversary compilation. The dark side of being an artist. Self-produced as well.
New self produced track entitled Yout’.
Written and produced by Emay
Tired of one desire.
In attics you’ll see us hanging.
Spiders that spun in spires.
Eating from dung and mire.
Addicts of many substances suffering
This is us. Unusual lunatics.
The mummies that used to tick.
Tickled by putrid sticks.
A pickly morbid climate.
Revival needs more than Heimlich.
This is my generation.
Our ethics is Netflix and sleep is our meditation.
Working at Micky D’s with masters and PHD’s.
Indebted to banks and brokers.
Regretting it, thanks I’m broker.
Weeds all up in the garden.
Fruitless but still I’m guarding.
The world’s the opposite from what they told us in kindergarten.
That’s probably what they meant by kinder surprise.
That we would go from total confidence to whimpering pride.
Youth. A word synonymous with trying to find. Truth.
The phase is ominous.
Laughing with little feelings.
Rapping to make a million.
Clap when I’m in the building.
Selfish and narcissistic.
In all statistics.
Thought that these things were healthy.
Watch as I take a selfie.
It was written in my DNA to be Emay.
Flee away. Out of all the misery we see today.
I try to plant a seed a day.
But even water’s expensive.
And all is accepted, this slaughters incentive.
Thinking I could change the planet since a toddler I meant it.
To study the world around me be a model detective.
Detected all the neglected,
Human beings, I’m seeing
That most are not as protected
For whatever reason the season
Is in a constant state of frost and hate.
Sugarless frosted flakes.
Fraudulent facades and fakes.
Modulated posh in plates.
That we’re supposed to follow and swallow, but I couldn’t chew.
A cannibalistic ballistic system, we stood in stew
While it was brewed.
I don’t mean to brood or be a prude.
They always say I’m complaining when explaining why the youth
Appear unmannered and uncouth.
Take a look at our surroundings it’s resounding with the proof of why we’re pounding through the roof.
Little instrumental experiment.