Where Did the Sun Go? - Foreign Beggars

Quiet nights of quiet stars

The quiet chords from my guitar

Floating on the silence that surrounds us

Ayo, where did the sun go?

Erased by the cars

Abghas, Haze and gun smoke

Through the rain as I speak my bars

The light of the streets delete the stars

The air that we breathe is poison and

People wear fake tan to avoid the sun

Like a demon child that destroys it’s mum

Eaten up from the inside like horsemen from Troy

My lungs are jet black and cancerous

Gasoline, nicotine and Ganja spliffs

Damage is done like when arms handlers

Had me praying for change like a thousand mantises

Pursue goodness and loot the righteous

Dark circling computer nightmares

We cruise lightyears

Recruiting the future fighters

I write the sickest raps that bring it back to the natural elements

Iller than twisted cats with twenty kids in backward settlements

Settling for less than ten pence for a day’s wage

It’s this rap game’s baiter than ancient ways of racial hatred

With thoughts contagiously spawning new waves of anger

Damaging innocent minds that wanna rhyme 'cos they’re none the wiser

I flow more than two rival tides in a violent ocean

Riding the undercurrents of bodies writhing in tribal motion

Survive on the vital potion

Liquid swords of frozen soul food

Holding the pole position only stroll with wholly bold few

But I’m sure by the rise of the next cycle we’ll be forgotten

Confided in dry tears by the wayside with mind’s rotten

Fight for the common cause in the plight for the defiant brother

Whose only hope to find soul is in a bottle or a lonely gutter

If only truths were uttered every time our mouths were open

We’d be halfway to the promised land with the vision of cowards broken

I’m a starving artist who harnessed the force of the beat

I talk to my peeps who walk in their sleep

Through dimly lit Victorian streets

Where the law of the beasts is enforced by police

Ignoring the shrieks and silent screams

Violent scenes, grey smog hides sun’s vibrant beams

Tyrants seek to make loot in grey suits

Caught in the same loop but can’t break loose

The hate the hate produced takes root, shapes youths

And grows into Billie Holiday’s strange fruit

The rotten apple he picked from the trees

The sick and diseased

To it’s pips and it’s seeds

The wickedest fiends

Trick and deceive

The victims bereaved

Mans are addicted to greed

But wealth corrupts

Til you self-destruct

Our target is to uplift and help you up

What