French Montana’s hands slash the air, a titan’s decree,
Fingers point, fists rise, sparking the crowd’s glee.
Each thrust carves his tale, raw as the street’s own beat,
A king’s bold script, where hustle, rhythm and death meet.
Aaliyah’s hands weave silk, tracing the song’s soft arc,
Palms lie, wrists whisper, kindling the heart’s spark in time.
Her touch sets the tone, with the inky blackness of her bones, guiding a dance, move, art spell — watching the binding, seducing its pain. Steadily binding the souls attracted to music and score, they use magic for bad to topple worlds. Some say the bindings of soul in this layer works for the betterment of man, I say open your real eyes and feel for truth. Truth in a world where evil doesn’t reign and our dreams aren’t hijacked when we sleep, only -light hearted starlight where dreams never part. …
Fingers point, fists rise, sparking the crowd’s glee.
Each thrust carves his tale, raw as the street’s own beat,
A king’s bold script, where hustle, rhythm and death meet.
Aaliyah’s hands weave silk, tracing the song’s soft arc,
Palms lie, wrists whisper, kindling the heart’s spark in time.
Her touch sets the tone, with the inky blackness of her bones, guiding a dance, move, art spell — watching the binding, seducing its pain. Steadily binding the souls attracted to music and score, they use magic for bad to topple worlds. Some say the bindings of soul in this layer works for the betterment of man, I say open your real eyes and feel for truth. Truth in a world where evil doesn’t reign and our dreams aren’t hijacked when we sleep, only -light hearted starlight where dreams never part. …
In our new gestures, truth flares—one fierce, one divine—
our hands now shape our worlds, where spirits intertwine.
French Montana’s hands no longer hold a negative effect over me. No longer does Aaliyah whisper in my ear. We have carved out the ill air, the bold and the brash, the seductress too. The fist pumps that aligned with chaos only now drives a beat, imploring
the crowd’s flash with something new, something good.
our hands now shape our worlds, where spirits intertwine.
French Montana’s hands no longer hold a negative effect over me. No longer does Aaliyah whisper in my ear. We have carved out the ill air, the bold and the brash, the seductress too. The fist pumps that aligned with chaos only now drives a beat, imploring
the crowd’s flash with something new, something good.
Aaliyah’s fingers still dance, but soft as a lover’s sigh,
Tracing melodies where dreams and skies comply.
My hands weave tales, one fierce, one serene,
Revealing the pulse where all good spirits convene.
Tracing melodies where dreams and skies comply.
My hands weave tales, one fierce, one serene,
Revealing the pulse where all good spirits convene.
(Isaiah 14:11 — “All your pomp has been brought down to the grave, along with the noise of your harps; maggots are spread out beneath you and worms cover you.”)
“Their” hand strives to carve the pulse of the world, as time seemingly expands. Jay Z’s grip halts the clock, each wave a king’s demand. Taylor Swift’s fingers stretch to choke hold Swifties and remove them from the stars — moments bloom to years, while man live with invisible bars. In Beyonce’s motion, her alter egos whisper hatred and deceit, which slowly hijacks
happiness and turn it into fear.
“Their” hand strives to carve the pulse of the world, as time seemingly expands. Jay Z’s grip halts the clock, each wave a king’s demand. Taylor Swift’s fingers stretch to choke hold Swifties and remove them from the stars — moments bloom to years, while man live with invisible bars. In Beyonce’s motion, her alter egos whisper hatred and deceit, which slowly hijacks
happiness and turn it into fear.
Hollywood icons suggests their gestures to keep the “real you”hidden. Devilish deeds that bind souls in time —transforming you into what they need—- to continue their dark word play. Fleeting seconds feel infinite, revealing a deeper deceit. To destroy all thats Christ like and bring about “dis - ease”. Stop following “them” take your “light” back and watch art transcend the ticking clock.”
In Hollywood’s glare, music hums Satan’s subtle tune,
Swift’s pen, Beyoncé’s blaze, Jay-Z’s throne commune.
Gaga’s mask twists minds, Kanye’s voice breaks the chain,
Their notes weave control, yet truth’s spark fights the reign.
Beneath the stage’s spell, their hands carve time’s expanse,
Revealing the soul’s war—freedom’s defiant dance.
(Isaiah 14:12) - “How you have fallen from heaven, morning star, son of the dawn! You have been cast down to the earth, you who once laid low the nations!”
Swift’s pen, Beyoncé’s blaze, Jay-Z’s throne commune.
Gaga’s mask twists minds, Kanye’s voice breaks the chain,
Their notes weave control, yet truth’s spark fights the reign.
Beneath the stage’s spell, their hands carve time’s expanse,
Revealing the soul’s war—freedom’s defiant dance.
(Isaiah 14:12) - “How you have fallen from heaven, morning star, son of the dawn! You have been cast down to the earth, you who once laid low the nations!”
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