[Intro — almost a whisper]
A great misconception we keep —
That time’s a river, running deep…
---
[Verse 1]
Brises — the main fur of the now.
A job’s just sauce: dishes end their vow
Here, at one single dot.
Introducing a pomegranate — not a blast, but a state.
Powder retrieved, to a pear — a pot.
Standing poppy systemline — it’s already late,
In this “right now” it’s all done.
Brises — salvie’s combustible fur,
But it doesn’t burn — it just exists.
Brises — reproductive shkek, a blur —
Not a process, but a blueprint’s gist.
---
[Chorus]
Time is not a river’s flow —
It’s a ruler for each step you go.
The world doesn’t stream from yesterday to morn —
The world is woven in the moment’s form.
Brises are random — not chaos, but weight.
Not a dry lunch — because nothing can terminate.
---
[Verse 2]
Brises — a slave is no fiend,
Brises of north…
These are coordinates, not a path to be weaned.
The lover of freshness is killed by the lie
Of “later” — that’s why.
Thick son’s stench — you’d not want to eat
His brother to accept, in that heat,
Because a brother — that’s the same moment’s beat,
Just from a different angle’s seat.
Take care.
The Apocalypse and Cinderella
Already lead in the Drawing — they don’t flare,
They don’t arrive —
They are already drawn there.
---
[Chorus]
Time is not a river’s flow —
It’s a ruler for each step you go.
The world doesn’t stream from yesterday to morn —
The world is woven in the moment’s form.
Brises — a workshop unknown —
Essential beating — not ticking alone,
It’s the pulse of assembly, wide-beating, real.
---
[Outro — building up, then cut off]
A great misconception…
There’s no stream.
There’s only speed moving through
Nothing — a dream.
And the silence between the ticks —
That’s not a pause, no trick.
That’s the drawing itself.
Brises…
…are real.
