Spirit of Ecstasy

Listening to Young Thug,

Interesting fellow he is,

Inarticulate but articulate,

Although his lyrical pieces,

Are sometimes incomprehensible,

A certain,

Emotion can be felt,

Slithering through his,

Recital,

The way in which,

He skillfully,

Glides from,

Rhyme to rhyme,

Which don’t make much sense,

More so like,

A bringing together of two words,

Which rhyme,

But have no logical connection,

Yet,

The music,

Comes together,

Almost orgasmically,

The way in which,

His voices slithers,

Gracefully,

Slides through his accompanying orchestra,

The words,

Expressed,

In Harmony to the harmonium,

The emotion,

Can be felt,

Underneath the words,

Which come together,

To create the exterior,

Chemistry of the song,

But the interior,

Is the heart of the artist,

The soul is felt,

And it is felt only,

When the artist has surrendered himself,

To the music,

For the message,

Is delivered through,

With unknown origins,

And not from his head,

But from his heart.