Quoth' The Demons Nevermore
All Glory Be to God This was inspired by the poem: The Raven by: Edgar Allen Poe One of My Favorite Poets Growing Up Shout out to: @Rapfame_Official @Rapfame_AR_Team I appreciate the Platform Cover Art By @KingzBladeMedia #NeverMore Written By Bishop Sniper ©️ Once upon a midnight dreary, counting stacks and chasing theory, Over visions in the city, shadows crawling from the floor— While I plotted, never sleeping, suddenly there came a creeping, Like the block itself was speaking, speaking through my corridor. “Just the night,” I told myself, “it’s whispering at my chamber door— Only this and nothing more.” Cold December, streets remember, smoke and sirens, deadly embers, Every corner hides a secret, written deep in urban lore. Prayed for daylight, prayed for healing, still the night kept dark revealing, Every echo had me reeling, calling from my corridor. Every echo like a warning banging through my trap door— Streets that call forevermore. Then the rustling turned to voices, demons laughing at my choices, Tempting me with quick advances, trapping fast and waging war. To stay clean, I kept on fighting, but the night was so inviting, Every shadow kept on writing names across my corridor. Every whisper scribbled hunger deep across my chamber door— Hustle clean, but streets want more. Presently my soul grew harder, courage rose though night grew darker, “Yo,” I said, “who in the shadows creeping at my corridor? If you’re friend then say your reason, if you’re foe, then face this season, Don’t be creeping with no treason, tapping at my chamber door. State your name or leave in silence, haunting up my trap door— Say it now and nothing more.” Deep into the dark I’m peering, heavy breath and inner fearing, Dreaming dreams no sober hustler ever dared to dream before. But the silence stayed unbroken, till a single word was spoken, Just a whisper, like a token—whispered low through corridor. One dark word that split the silence, echoed past my chamber door— Just one word: “Forevermore.” Back inside my hunger burning, all my mind was slowly turning, Then again I heard it louder, sharper than the one before. “Surely,” said I, “it’s the demons, always scheming, always fiendin’, Let me see what game they’re weavin’, lurking at my trap door— Let my heart be still a moment, face what waits beyond my door;— Just the streets and nothing more!” Open wide I flung the entrance, shadows swarmed without repentance, In there stepped no bird of omen—just the streets I can’t ignore; Not a greeting, not a warning, not a blessing for the morning, Just the city’s curse adorning every crack of corridor. Cold and ruthless stood the presence, choking out my chamber door— Streets that rule forevermore. Then these demons, bold and fearless, spoke in tones that chilled me cheerless, By the grave and stern decorum of the hunger that they bore: “Though you run, you can’t escape us, all these angels couldn’t save us, Every dream is just to break us—your clean path ain’t what we swore. Tell us, hustler, can you flee us, from the curse that streets implore?” Quoth the demons, “Nevermore.”
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All Glory Be to God This was inspired by the poem: The Raven by: Edgar Allen Poe One of My Favorite Poets Growing Up Shout out to: @Rapfame_Official @Rapfame_AR_Team I appreciate the Platform Cover Art By @KingzBladeMedia #NeverMore Written By Bishop Sniper ©️ Once upon a midnight dreary, counting stacks and chasing theory, Over visions in the city, shadows crawling from the floor— While I plotted, never sleeping, suddenly there came a creeping, Like the block itself was speaking, speaking through my corridor. “Just the night,” I told myself, “it’s whispering at my chamber door— Only this and nothing more.” Cold December, streets remember, smoke and sirens, deadly embers, Every corner hides a secret, written deep in urban lore. Prayed for daylight, prayed for healing, still the night kept dark revealing, Every echo had me reeling, calling from my corridor. Every echo like a warning banging through my trap door— Streets that call forevermore. Then the rustling turned to voices, demons laughing at my choices, Tempting me with quick advances, trapping fast and waging war. To stay clean, I kept on fighting, but the night was so inviting, Every shadow kept on writing names across my corridor. Every whisper scribbled hunger deep across my chamber door— Hustle clean, but streets want more. Presently my soul grew harder, courage rose though night grew darker, “Yo,” I said, “who in the shadows creeping at my corridor? If you’re friend then say your reason, if you’re foe, then face this season, Don’t be creeping with no treason, tapping at my chamber door. State your name or leave in silence, haunting up my trap door— Say it now and nothing more.” Deep into the dark I’m peering, heavy breath and inner fearing, Dreaming dreams no sober hustler ever dared to dream before. But the silence stayed unbroken, till a single word was spoken, Just a whisper, like a token—whispered low through corridor. One dark word that split the silence, echoed past my chamber door— Just one word: “Forevermore.” Back inside my hunger burning, all my mind was slowly turning, Then again I heard it louder, sharper than the one before. “Surely,” said I, “it’s the demons, always scheming, always fiendin’, Let me see what game they’re weavin’, lurking at my trap door— Let my heart be still a moment, face what waits beyond my door;— Just the streets and nothing more!” Open wide I flung the entrance, shadows swarmed without repentance, In there stepped no bird of omen—just the streets I can’t ignore; Not a greeting, not a warning, not a blessing for the morning, Just the city’s curse adorning every crack of corridor. Cold and ruthless stood the presence, choking out my chamber door— Streets that rule forevermore. Then these demons, bold and fearless, spoke in tones that chilled me cheerless, By the grave and stern decorum of the hunger that they bore: “Though you run, you can’t escape us, all these angels couldn’t save us, Every dream is just to break us—your clean path ain’t what we swore. Tell us, hustler, can you flee us, from the curse that streets implore?” Quoth the demons, “Nevermore.”
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