by Maabad Said (Temple)
I spit…
Tempting testaments of my temperament
Like temperas of the temple of Tempe
Without an instrumental, I draw mental pictures that make you tremble
I draw templates of temptation at livid lava temperatures
Full blown, they hit your temporal bones
Fully stressed, like the tempo of a Tempest
But by far, surpassing the temper of a Templar…
Though My temper tantrums are temporary
They conceal attempts to reveal my heart-felt contempt
I am mundanely insane, complex by being simple
Without an instrumental, I draw mental pictures that make you tremble
But not to confuse you…
You can just call me “Temple”
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