Drums
T Project Lyrics

Jazzy drum beat
The rhythm of the song is like the beats of a jazz drum.

some will say it’s escapism this thing of writing this thing of poetry
Some people might consider writing poetry as a means of escaping reality.

I don’t know what it is because I don’t write it it comes to me it presents itself to me
The writer of the poetry does not know where these ideas come from, but they seem to be presented to them spontaneously.

words come outta nowhere ideas like pictures images of morning the reflection of souls mirrored in tired eyes frantic conversations
The lyrical writer gets inspiration from various sources, such as random thoughts, visualizations, emotions, and conversations.

sentences disguised in jazzy drum beat
The words and phrases of the poetry are hidden and woven in the jazzy beat of the music.

this morning I wake up lazy open the curtains of my bedroom window and see the skeleton of buildings on the horizon like giants standing in front of the sun defying the clouds rulers of the concrete jungle
The writer wakes up and observes the man-made structures outside, which appear imposing and overpowering, as if they own the world.

then the everyday routine Coffee? Sure, coffee? Time? no sir, sorry Oh, don’t apologize there’s no time for that oh, shut up Here, have a pill it’ll help you Delay Ah… Thank you… another fuzzy day a dream like state go back home watch the news sleep wake up work and repeat, repeat Delay
The daily life of the singer involves mundane tasks, such as drinking coffee and taking pills to cope with stress and monotony.

come on babe one more time
The artist encourages someone, possible a loved one, to join them in repeating their routine, even if it's not exciting.

understand, I’m at the crossroads of fate I hold that in my bare hand in mid air waiting for tomorrow waiting for now
The poet feels uncertain about their future, but they are ready to handle whatever comes their way with confidence.

another day of poetry another day of verses paragraphs, thoughts scattared everywhere shhh…
The artist likes to write poetry daily, and their thoughts and ideas are varied and scattered all around.

smiles, noise, people the slow melody of steps strangers passing by my mind isn’t naked as it would in one of Ginsberg’s lines it’s fully dressed filled with Tuesdays jazz, coffee, yes, no ,huh
The poet observes the people and the world around them, and their thoughts are not just empty or insane, as they might be, according to Allen Ginsberg.

was I born to be a poet? have I been born at all? a head full of possibilities in search for emptiness for an instant however brief I found some clarity behind the shadows for a precious second I own the moment and the people all around me their opinions, pre conceptions dresses, books, concerns nationalities degrees gestures fears simply do not matter to me
The artist wonders if their creative ability was bestowed upon them from birth, but they ultimately find peace in the present moment, free from judgment or anxiety, and appreciate their own perspective.