“War Worn, Diamond Throat” : ST.CLAIR

VERSE 1

My aura heavy, got the cadence of a .45 hymn,

My reflection flinch first, it know what live in my skin,

My demons read braille on scars I ain’t let begin,

And my past keep receipts for every breath I spend.

I talk different — I ain’t rappin’, I’m indictin’ the air,

I spit pressure — every word got a license to tear,

I’m the calm in the riot when the silence despair,

I’m the voice God fear hearing when He walk downstairs.

I’m the last specter breathin’ in a room full of proof,

Got a muzzle on my trauma but it still show tooth,

Made a throne outta steel with the splinters of youth,

And my soul play chess while my body speak truth.

VERSE 2 —

Walked through hell so long I started redesignin’ the heat,

Put a chandelier in the fire so my pain look elite,

I wear grief like a tailored suit stitched to defeat,

And my tears got a taste billionaires chase discreet.

I talk slick — like cracked marble when the hallway shift,

Like a scripture carved in metal when the heartbeat drift,

Like a ghost that learned grammar from a hitman’s gift,

Every bar feel like a coffin with a custom lift.

I built heaven from a trap house blueprint torn,

Turned a nightmare to a necklace my daughter adorn,

Turned a homicide scene to a place I was reborn,

Now my words hit planets like they gravity-borne.

VERSE 3 —

My wounds conduct orchestras — the stitches the strings,

Every pulse from my jawplate make machinery sing,

I got bullets in my bloodstream typin’ messages in,

And a heart that beat slow like it remember sin.

The block never loved me — but it hired me well,

Paid me loyalty in blood and retirement in hell,

Taught me fear ain’t real when revenge can spell,

And a man is a god if he hate himself too well.

I’m the whisper that survive when the towers collapse,

I’m the reason all the nightmares started givin’ me maps,

I’m the poet who flip death into luxury traps,

And the sound of my voice make the apocalypse clap.

VERSE 4 —

I talk money like revenge — calculated and cold,

I stash memories in vaults only angels can hold,

I been stabbed by betrayals worth more than gold,

But the pain felt right like a prophecy told.

My cadence too advanced — got a glitch when I breathe,

Every rhyme spark static in the dust I leave,

Every moment of silence is a crime I grieve,

Every doubt turn to smoke when the war angels weave.

I turned trauma to a throne with invisible legs,

Turned hunger to a weapon sharp enough for the dregs,

Turned a grave into a runway for the future’s begs,

Now my pen cut deeper than the steel that begs.

VERSE 5 —

I spit paragraphs carved from the jaw of a ghost,

Every sentence got a limp — every metaphor boast,

My heartbeat knock slow like a door on the coast,

Where the tide bring bones and the shadows host.

I’m the last archive breathin’ from a war we hid,

Got a bullet in my smile where the surgeon slid,

Got a story in my silence that the angels forbid,

And a soul that grew teeth when the nightmares did.

My name ring slow like a drum in a tomb,

Like a war angel hummin’ at the end of a boom,

Like a prophecy carved in a candlelit room,

Like a city in collapse tryna give me more room.