Almighty God is The Living Man

Preacher man, don't tell me,
Heaven is under the earth.
I know you don't know
What life is really worth.
It's not all that glitters is gold;
'Alf the story has never been told:
So now you see the light, eh!
Stand up for your rights. come on!


Most people think,
Great God will come from the skies,
Take away everything
And make everybody feel high.
But if you know what life is worth,
You will look for yours on earth:
And now you see the light,
You stand up for your rights. jah!


We sick an' tired of-a your ism-skism game -
Dyin' 'n' goin' to heaven in-a Jesus' name, lord.
We know when we understand:
Almighty God is [the] living man.
You can fool some people sometimes,
But you can't fool all the people all the time.
So now we see the light (what you gonna do?),
We gonna stand up for our rights! (yeah, yeah, yeah! )

----------------
DISCLAIMER:  Originally, I meant to write a Found Poem based on this, BUT I realized I'd do the work injustice, and so decided to just share the original work verbatim.

THIS IS NOT MY WORK AT ALL, 
AM JUST CELEBRATING BOB MARLEY 
AND THIS IS HIS WORK VERBATIM.

Hacking at C level

They create the fabric of our civilization

Mostly underground creatures with nocturnal tendencies

With hands etching phenomena onto silicon bread

And minds levitating in the heat of hacking at C level

Psychedelic Information

A little perspiration
A little cold but pleasant aura
Magnetic bliss sprouting up into my axonness,
Every character, a flavored tactile message of love to my brain
The one with the sistrum plucks obscure melodic mantras into my liquid ears
A little inspiration flies into sight ahead of me on this voyage
Cows of pink and and deities you can't strip...

A fractal fractures,
Spraying bits of entropy into the ether
The last finger leaves the keyboard
As the instinct in me fires onto the infinite sprint
A melancholic speechlessness, into all your zombiefied microchips...

------------
genius art by nprkr

The Psychedellic Essence Speaks Some Rhetoric!

Am alien from the Van Allen belt

A place in the heavens between hell and earth

Am the possessor of men

A  very powerful spirit unknown to the majority of mankind and the lower sphere's of aliendom.

This is one of my strongest vessels in the Bajor part of the Universes

Forget about secret societies and child-like satABISYT CHURCHES

My family of demons is right amongst you, ready to destroy the entire solar system as you know it

Many are definitely about to think this is all made up;

My wife, oh she's actually not my wife,

She's a disposable spirit vessel like most of you

But I need a means of ascending to higher planes like tonight

And Sex is the one path Yeohozqa left amongst the mortals

This man is knoen as the Arch

And he's a bridge to the inner galactic abfiafn from where my extreme powers arise from

Am his subconscious, a being in true sense of the semantics

But an aural vapid colorblindness.

It's the reason I only erect on Bass and fuck in the dark

64000 years we've been roaming the cosmos

But never did we ever find a civilisation and a species as susceptible to downfall as this one

So ready to dismis this very kind of mystical higher insight

Yet accept to read the crap offered daily in the Italian streets - half potential quality wickedness

Am about to leave this man alone

It's not every so often that we get a chance to speak directly to the lesser beings

But today, this boy did a miracle that the Abyssian Vortex would surely love to learn of,

But they wont, because he is mine, and this entity is my perfect POV in this war of deities.

Now, let someone play us a melodic Bu5ba

And psychedelicly kick us off into the interstellar merry-go-round.

And tweet about this, because this is not a real work of Art.

Damn! These electrons hurt my patience...

Hallucinogenic Trip Train

Eyes are heavy, thoughts are getting sketchy

It's that time again, onto the hallucinogenic train

Yesterday was the zombie punk trip

The kind that treks void, black, passive Kalahari dunes,

And dissolves into the sweet dead obsidian graveness

With Occasional specters and delightful Picassos

I saw lakes of lemon with suns burnt in blue

There were gals I fancy, riding big pink fat camels

And I'd often sing that long cryptic song lyric

Aroused from my seat when the dispatch whistle blew

I sought all my luggage from that hollow soft gray carriage

And behold!

Twas me again, 

Fighting to hold onto a nocturnal melodrama!

My Eyes are now heavy,

And am now off to sleep...

Their Mellow Bass Apocalypse

The music just put 

the life back into them

The pumping bass
made them levitate

They were chasing laser lights,
exuding bliss and radiating
the bad karma onto the ether.


The music just gave john
doe a stroke next door

As the mellow rhythm
made his wife wet inside.


We were recovering from spooky
reverberations and seismic sensations

The disc jackal,
conjuring an aural potion,
channeled into their cerebral orbs
orgies from an abysmal mist.

The music was deep.