I try to tell the tales written on every humans pair of white, black or brown balls,
if i could be accurate a hundred percent then i could be God;
So wise, He put writers in place.
The joyful recipient saw he flipped fabrics to cloths
Stating the obvious
In front of proofs, I see the contrary
I want to know before told,
so playing God cause I'm his Son.
Stressing my senses to every microscopic details
if not known by me, i shouldn't be told
if not seen by me, it shouldn't be penned,
happy at the sadness I have found in him
happier it is walking with him in his wilderness, showing him the promise land of which i haven't seen too
happiest it is when he clinged to it as the Light.
Fufilled I am, playing God, when I pave goodbye from his fantasies