Tempest

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Lt Headtrip

Lt Headtrip (pronounced /lo͞oˈtenənt hedtrip/) is an American rapper and producer. He is the founder of the record label 'we are the karma kids' (WATKK) and has spent the last decade curating projects and events in the local music scene in Brooklyn, Manhattan, and Queens. He is also a seasoned touring musician and studio engineer. more »

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Terrible with names, terrible with numbers
I’m fairly good with words, but I'm scared i’m getting dumber
A jailbird in a cage. I know. that sounds redundant
The sailor rides a wave at the mercy of its current
We fail to see the maze if we were born behind the locks
And never go outside at all or float above its walls
A puzzle ain’t a problem if we never think to solve it
Or there’s rarely resolution without conflict. Pick a posture
And she’d never seen her wedding ring so frail
Hesitant to measure what the chemistry entails
Emotionally distant, mentally a veil falls, heavily
To hide what she desires. Ensnared
The weather guides her sails while the heavens seem impervious
Presently the evidence suggests a higher purpose in this spent machine
Endlessly exhausting its inertia then regurgitating learned behavior
She saves her bold assertions for her selfless attempts to embellish her distant empathy
While expending her spiritual energy. Anyway
The oceans leads the vessel and the vessel leaves its signature
A choice is an impression or an imprint
Significant or lost in the enigma of probable insignificance
She can’t offer autonomy if she didn’t have it to begin with
And if she let her herself admit that it’s all simple addition
She’d surmise it never really made a difference, did it
I reside in the pressure of the tempest
Wild gales to guide my tired sails
My confines stretch with the weather
I reside in the pressure of the tempest
Stern to horns succumb to perfect storms 
Such a turbulent temptress
Jesus was a carpenter. Joseph was a cuckold
He’d teach his son to carve then watch him grow to be a sculptor
The kingdom came with martyrdom. The soldiers, on a payroll
Point your pieces at the harbinger; he’s quoting an untouchable
If you’re a child of God, the morning star’s your uncle
A poorly drawn impression of what mom and dad had hoped for
Good lord. Son of a run of the militant step daughter
Presumption is assuming your you’re nemesis’s next target
Or that your enemies ever noticed your game enough to
Drop their better senses and vengefully focus their aim
To suppose you’ve made an impression or that you’re more than a name
Or a face to your rivals is hopelessly vain
“So brave, too young,” they used to repeat
“Don’t stay too long— you’ll get used to the heat
But don’t stray too far from your usual sheep, either
Cowering in line is a fruitful routine,” they say
Ask yourself what your community needs
If you choose to leave now in pursuit of dream
You'll return one sullen day to resume your defeat
But if she never takes the risk she’d just as soon be asleep
So she set for the seas without a treasure map or skipper
Wet behind the ears as she whetted her conviction
Her apparent winding and unwinding was celestial misdirection
So she surrendered to the mistral
I reside in the pressure of the tempest
Wild gales to guide my tired sails
My confines stretch with the weather
I reside in the pressure of the tempest
Stern to horns succumb to perfect storms
Such a turbulent temptress
I reside in the pressure of the tempest
Wild gales to guide my tired sails
My confines stretch with the weather
I reside in the pressure of the tempest
Stern to horns succumb to perfect storms
Such a turbulent temptress
Get caught up in a whirlwind
With no promise of a journey’s end
And throw caution to the hurricane

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