Painting Pictures (lyrics)
Written by NOEL IS
Song produced by B.Side

Verse One

Mixed in the blend of the dream.
Relaxed in the comfort of what the future means.
Mathematicians in vain can’t work out the equation.
Back to the arts, the OBBA steps out the dark.
Melodic dances with the tension.
Help build a house then get thrown off the roof.
They never told you that this wonder could fly.
Power moves, play your cards right.
Half the face shows disgrace.
Hear my words if you're alive.
If not I can talk to the dead so hear my words still after you die.
Nothing special, just communication.
On a personal level smooth sailing.
Melt the iceberg, radiate the craft to clear the way.
Blood on the stage, love on the dance floor.
The crowd missed it, they too wasted… Some see it.
Like a fly on the wall so many eyes unseen.
But the view is so so clear.
The voice so loud but these ears still so so deaf.
The final hour… No tears after I left.

An open page is calling.
Urging me to express.
What do I do?
Hypnotised by the rhythm.
Play it louder, yo the outside screams.

An open page is calling.
Urging me to express.
What do I do?
Hypnotised by the rhythm.
Life on the page.
Combinated styles, created forces.

Shut me down.
Pull the power cord.
Test the force of my word.
Track the truth in the value penny your thoughts.
Desperation for you to scratch the surface of a lie.
Can’t find one.
Ain’t no fun if the homies cant have none.
Word to my peoples.
What’s done in the dark, all know the end result.
No more further speaking, word to the wise who secure the art.
Keep it moving, THINK.CREATE.LIVE push that statement forever.
No metaphors, one is enough.
Grip the hammer with ease.
Like the microphone for sure.
Who steps after can’t catch the drop.
Originators since before the 09.
No ideas original but we broke the rule on that one.
Live life, no more wars, no more stress.
Count your blessings.
Lucky heads don’t run up in your crib.
Or you're awake at night.
The bird thought it saw the cat.
No mistaken, pitch where the spirits move out the black.
Shock in your eyes when you realise who it is.

An open page is calling.
Urging me to express.
What do I do?
Hypnotised by the rhythm.
Play it louder, yo the outside screams.

An open page is calling.
Urging me to express.
What do I do?
Hypnotised by the rhythm.
Life on the page.
Combinated styles, created forces.