Produced/Written/Performed by Kai Straw


Where's my soul?
I wanna behold it. For I never sold it
Is it in between my eyes where my skull is? Or is
it somewhere dormant, forged somewhere beyond the senses
For if we never learned to see it, then our mind will never sense it
But still, I ponder its inner workings, head off to church and
ask God where my soul is lurkin', and if responsive
he'd probably say the body's just a cockpit
and we're all goin' down like drunks when they're nauseous
But do fixes of substances help us find ourselves?
act as maps of our conscious-es?
or, to the honest, is this just an excuse
to get high above the lows that we're used to, instead of choosing death
and I'm not afraid of that, [be]cause it's all natural
like birth, but I wonder what was before this debacle
Before the womb, where did Kai loom, and whom
decided who or what body I'd bring to the tomb
Assume we were aloof before life
Just souls chillin', then wanted to get high feelin'
so we took some shit, 28 grams of it, then started trippin'
and this is what the damn trip is, a drug induced
illusion of movement and we'll wake up soon when
death strikes like it's bowlin' down the alley and the pins are losin'
So who's in charge of your mirage, what facade
do you decide to adopt upon you leaving your garage
[Be]cause all of us where masks and costumes
to try to be apart of
some clique or creed that we believe we belong to
But so long to it all and it's long overdue
I threw my mask away like I do when October's through
Is your soul so gross that it repulse you?
Donned a mask so the damn world can't assault you?
some say it's 21 grams, but I'll say it's 28
[be]cause souls are bought and sold like coke of the same weight

I saw the best minds of my generation
destroyed by madness
Starving, hysterical, naked
Angel headed hipsters
burning for the ancient heavenly connection
to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night
Who were expelled from the academies for crazy
and publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull
Who coward in unshaven rooms in underwear
burning their money in wastebaskets
and listening to the terror through the wall
- [Excerpts from "Howl" by Allen Ginsberg]

As I sit and ponder livin' death
smokin' cigarettes, I wonder if
my shit's hot like a summer trip, but I'm done with it
Expectations can suck dick, that's some punk shit
If I cared than my art couldn't function
People care too much, giving two fucks
about thumb suckers' opinions, when they matter none
We are who we are, victims of fates hands
You're trippin' 'bout race when all our souls are 28 grams
Love can never do what hate can, so hey cool kid,
hate society and not the man that it made foolish
That it made ghoulish, we're products of a system
but I taught you to resist 'em, so reject your papa's wisdom,
[be]cause this a new age, like your birthday at midnight
where knives are at fist fights and truth's insight
lacks from most windpipes, but we sit tight while
women get exploited for the point of sellin' shit for coins and dollars
And all this, honest, is darkness that's upon us
Rights gone [be]cause we fear some terrorists might bomb us?
Well, that's fear mongerin', used by the news
to make us feel scared of somethin' when we're 10 years removed
[Be]cause if it's comin' from the people we love
Then all the sudden their motherfuckin' opinion is ours
Like actors plaster their views when broadcastin'
then, followed by the masses, their vote is what we're all castin'
But the fact is, most are selfish asses
passive, won't give a coin to the dude crashin' where the trash is
But for fashion? They'll spend a grand on some damn shoes
Sayin' the homeless will waste it, well shit, look at you
and shit's true, so who will look past their pupils and cataracts
and change shit like a laxative after this,
Become the proactive activist with the innate chance
That you could die fightin' for your 28 grams


from The Tragedian's Decoupage, released May 18, 2011



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Kai Straw San Francisco, California

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