Poet
Milo Lyrics

It seems to me that the artist's struggle
In my perspective, the struggle faced by artists

For his integrity
To maintain their authenticity and values

Is a kind of metaphor
Can be seen as a symbolic representation

Must be considered as a metaphor
Should be acknowledged and interpreted as such

For the struggle, which is universal and daily
For the universal and constant struggle

Of all human beings on the face of this terrifying globe
Faced by every individual on this frightening world

To get to become human beings
To evolve and reach their true human nature

It is not your fault, it is not my fault, that I write
Writing is not a personal fault of yours or mine

I would never come before you
I would never approach you

In the position of a complainant (complainant)
As someone who complains or whines

For doing something that I must d (that I must do)
For engaging in something necessary and obligatory

I must do
It is a task I am bound to fulfill

Ghiath Matar is dead
The person named Ghiath Matar has died

Roses are not armour
Flowers cannot serve as protection

In my neighbourhood, it was become a poet or a farmer
In my community, one had to choose between being a poet or a farmer

Welcome back avatar, Mevlevi whirling while I'm boiling a pacifier
Greetings, my virtual representation. I am engaged in a soothing activity while trying to calm myself

Hold thyself like J'zargo in Winterhold
Maintain composure and steadfastness like the character J'zargo in the town of Winterhold

Reality, I'm in Fargo reading dinner poems
In actuality, I am in Fargo, reading poems related to dinner

Whincing at the virtue signalling
Cringing at the display of moral superiority

Jejune is Dirk Diggler staring at the ceiling post-coitus
Immature and inexperienced, like Dirk Diggler after sexual activity, gazing at the ceiling

Swerving through moral detours most boistrous
Navigating through loud and disruptive moral distractions

Black beans and deco spilt on my loafers
Spilled black beans and decorative items on my shoes

I'm back on my Black Bukowski bullshit
I have returned to my pretentious and controversial behavior inspired by Charles Bukowski's style

Fuck your notepad, wrote a poem with a toolkit
Disregard your conventional methods, I composed a poem using unconventional means

Shocking moment as the pupil thought
A surprising moment when the student had a thought

"Me and my niggas is a school of thought"
"My group of friends and I form a collective way of thinking and approaching ideas"

I wanna suggest that the poets
I desire to propose that the poets

Are finally the only people who know the truth about us
Are ultimately the sole individuals who possess true understanding of our nature

Soliders don't, statesmen don't, priests don't, union leaders don't
Soldiers, statesmen, priests, and union leaders lack this knowledge

Only the poets, that's my first proposition
Exclusively the poets, and this is my initial proposal

My second propopisiton
Now, my second proposition

Is what I really want to get at tonight
Is the central idea I aim to convey this evening

And it sounds mystical
And it has an aura of mystery

I think in a country like ours, in a time like this
In my opinion, within a country such as ours, at a particular moment in history

When something awful is happening to a civilization
When a civilization is undergoing a terrible ordeal

When it ceases to produce poets
When it no longer generates poets

And what is even more crucial
And what is particularly important

When it ceases in any way whatever to believe in the report
When it completely loses faith in the account

That only poets can make
That can only be crafted by poets