Sharp like the edge of my past
The sword in it's purest form
Only to be tainted by the blood of the forge
Every skill that was molded into the weapon
I'm living as
The illest path
There is only one master
Bestowed this particular craft
The legend is catching up to me now
Carry the torch but was forced to burn the legacy down
The truest
Mujushin
Not as free as Mugen
Precision in every movement
Ironically
My modus operandi exactly why I was clueless
To construct the perfect album my structure needed amalgam
But something I couldn't fathom
Until the moment presented itself
My final lesson
The blood in my veins
Had to be cryogenic
All I know is the art I've done
While I show you the one who defeated Enshiro Mariya
Touch the hand of God with the sword
To stay the course
Of course
Until now
My entire life only for myself was my study of the sword
Steel Packed tight in micro
Chip on my shoulder
No lords worth risking your life for
Only the way
In pursuit of something worth
Protecting with my blade
I find multiple
It's honor in every quotable
Once chosen one of the shogunate
Adjusting to how a ronin moves
Until Fuu smells the Sunflowers
When the gunpowder get slashed
Bring the sword to a gun fight
Too quick for the blast
You shooting at after images
Half your vitals get opened
On behalf the magnum opus


[Steel packed tight in micro
Chip on my shoulder
Under pieces of armor
Flesh and bone
Get immortalized through a song
Remember to spin it after I'm gone
After completion]


A strange man
A sail away from the mainland
Formless
Clean spins
March to the beat of my own
Drum but it's a remix
The blade my only instrument
A pirate turned ronin
I'm going off of the deep end...
With each grin
My sentiment
Sara left me empty in the rain
Feel I've died multiple times
I'm infinite
My past has made it's way to the light
Reactions from each one of my actions
Not valuing life
Nothing is off limits
Emerged from empty beginnings
And I remain wreckless
Though in the name of my friendships

Half of these masters
Look laughable
In the path of the
Freelance savage
Stylin without a style
A wild one
Every movement
Expression
A Shapeless and unpredictable message
Extending me from my weapon...
Live for some action
Die without passion
Every time the sun rise
Will it be the last that I bask in it?

Steal packed tight in micro
Chip on my shoulder
You decide how your life goes
No excuses
You make your own decisions
I'm moving
Until it's my time
Until then violence is therapeutic...
It's Mugen