Illogic - Hollow Shell (Cash Clutch) lyrics

[Verse 1: Illogic] I'm stuck in an emotional valley with melancholy Wandering this wilderness with Gilgamesh Baring a basket of berries rotted to the pits Hobbling through stretches of sand dunes Stand consumed by a walking stick Surrounded by a desert of waste Searching for some clear liquid to mirage the dirt taste I'm too overwhelmed to control the helm As the sun smiles battled in old time I'm using my shadow as a sun dial I don't hold the energy to run around It was lost in those seven digits Where I scattered my baby pictures In order to leave a small trace of face And for predecessors to know that Illogic Once held rank in this place I await to be devoured by the beast of the industry Where the goddess of lust speaks sweet nothings tempting me Where identity crisis is the norm And where we only know ourselves on stage But we forget after we perform Where blood and smoke screens cloak the inner discontent Where compensation for your due payments are overspent Where image is everything and your thirst no longer matters Where we can't stand our true selves so mirror images shatter Where life is no longer a blessing but a curse and Where Hip-Hop music is no longer fun but work Where life becomes a dream and reality doesn't exist And surrealism is the poison that you clutch in each fist [Hook: Illogic] The stench of burning sentences reeks of lost life Locked in this cage of clones by request Clutching cash overshadows the love of clutching the mic My mind and spirit elopes as I continue to stroke my flesh I become a hollow shell from which the ocean can be heard But that sound is only an illusion of my depth Is it by choice that I walk through this life as a waste of words Or is a rebirth in store for the piece of my soul that's left [Verse 2: Illogic] The gla** that sits on this table is half empty With a laugh I notice the pessimism within me Lost looking for the love that once embraced my muse Amused by the spectacle that my reflection's become No longer enthused by the culture I held in my grasp At one time I held the mic my grip replaced it with cash I recall my first encounter with the realm of sk** Where the concern was keeping it ill before keeping it real Where MC's would roll six hours just to bust Where the crowd responds it payment, getting cash was a plus Where we concentrate on rhymes to make the fans contemplate Where battles are dinner settings for your heroes to be ate Where life long friends are made and your crews are born Where pens act as umbrellas to shield you from the storm Where words are counsellors and writing is therapy Where chopped loops and drum breaks are the arms that carry me Where we spit till our throat hurts and saliva droughts Where you yearn to hear your verse sprout from one of your fan's mouths Where I want to return but damn I never left I was lost in the page just immersed in my song concept [Hook: Illogic] The stench of burning sentences reeks of lost life Locked in this cage of clones by request Clutching cash overshadows the love of clutching the mic Your mind and spirit elopes as you continue to stroke your flesh You become a hollow shell from which the ocean can be heard But that sound is only an illusion of your depth Is it by choice that you walk through this life as a waste of words Or is a rebirth in store for the piece of your soul that's left