Boots on the blacktop—still as a cornerstone,
Sovereignty tempered where silence is sown.
No gallery waiting, no eyes on the wall,
The signal within is conducting it all.
This isn't armor, a shield, or a guise—
I'm clearing the board of inherited lies.
The high-voltage current that crackles through bone
Is purpose made manifest,
taking the throne.
The cipher lies buried,
the code out of sight,
The engine runs hungry,
the timing locked tight.
Don't ask for the blueprint,
the route, or the sign,
I govern my cadence
and steward my time.
Stardust on denim
and oil on the sleeve,
Cutting through fog on a line I conceive.
A long-wheelbase rhythm,
a low-slung glide,
Sub-bass authority driving the stride.
No glance in the mirror,
no debt to the past,
The vision is laser—calibrated to last.
My mind.
My craft.
My aim.
My ground.
A sovereign frequency,
heavy and sound.
The footing is anchored.
The pulse is precise.
Watch how I step straight into the light.