Blake

A letter from my man young boy William Blake
Read by reverend John Trusler
He ordered Blake to illustrate paint pictures
Little did he know Blake was a hustler

Trustler was real a busta
Busted blakes blue balls like a mutha fucka
Told Blake his work belongs in the spirit world
Whatever that may mean

Blake responded told Trusler
It was out of my power
I could not do otherwise
So you can stop your whining and stop criticize

If you don't like it
I'm really sorry
You're fallen out with the spiritual world
If I am wrong especially
I am wrong in good company

What is great is necessarily obscure to weak men
And beauty ugliness both dwell exclusively
In the eyes that sees and qualifies them

If you don't like it
I'm really sorry
As a man is so he sees
Some off my men are moved to tears
Just by seeing these trees being cut down

These trees which stand in the way
But not in the way of William Blake
On the path to walk to take
You will see your own freedom is there at stake

If you don't like it
I'm really sorry
No one in the world can scare me
Angels demons dragons minotaurus
Whatever that may be

If you don't like it
I'm really sorry
Now you can go say your prayer I swear
That which can't be made explicit to the idiot
Is not even worth my care

If you don't like it
I'm really sorry
He stopped and sat in this chair
Claimed that the art of life we live here and now
Is to train the eye to notice

What is beautiful and truly noble in today's world
Is a continued fancy imagination

His path would well change the way we live
Now that would be an undertaking so big

Blake died in poverty yet still was happy
His genius and his vision were only appreciated after his death fully
Whole heartedly



Credits
Writer(s): Ekrem Ozan
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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