ego loves goals, achievement and chasing скачать в хорошем качестве

ego loves goals, achievement and chasing

LYRICS (Intro) Yeah… Perfect crime never televised. He don’t hide in the dark—he harmonize with the enterprise. (Verse 1) Picture a pickpocket prophet in Prada pajamas, blending with bloggers and scholars and trauma survivors. He mastered the art of mirage and massage of personas, a collage of facades—he camouflaged inside of your honor. Not lurking in alleyways, nah, he attend your retreats, beads on his wrist and a peace-sign pendant to preach. Speak in a delicate dialect, delicate breaths in the chest, selling you death of the self while he’s begging for relevance. Most of us started sincere— tears on the floor from the fear of the “me” that we wear. Weary of worrying who in the mirror appear, tired of tyrannical chatter that rattle the caverns of here. So we pivot, go inward, we enter the temple, temper the mental, assemble credentials. Upanishad quotes in a notebook stencil, monk-mode potential, transcending the rental. “Kill the ego,” we chant with a dagger of discipline, fasting and crafting a narrative militant. Stacking up silence like racks in a bank, thanking the heavens we finally different. Years in the lotus, devoted, promoted to potent and stoic composure, shoulders get colder, the posture get holier— “I’m over the lower emotions.” Confidence blooming in quiet confessions, “I’ve done the work, I’ve conquered depression.” That’s when the burglar emerge in a turban, curtain get drawn on the ultimate lesson. See the thief never leaves, he just change the attire, trades in the greed for a sage on a wire. From CEO ego to “see no ego,” same old hero with a halo on fire. He whisper: “You different, you distant from mortals, you walked through the portal, you lifted the veil.” Now you the oracle, moral and cordial, scoring the chorus of “I finally prevailed.” But who is the “I” in “I am awakened”? Who hold the crown when the kingdom is vacant? Who labeling levels and settling statements? Who measuring merit in minutes of patience? The very endeavor to sever the center is tethered to clever pretenders. The hand tryna pry the grip open is clenching and wrenching the tension much tighter than ever. You fighting a fighter with fire and lighter fluid, trying to quiet the riot by shouting through it. The tyrant retiring, rewiring the wiring, acquiring a choir of higher conclusions. (Verse 2) I seen a brother who bragged about bragging no more, subtle superiority sag in his jaw. “Comparison’s poison,” he said with a grin— while comparing himself to the rest of us all. Meditation medals pinned on his chest, counting his breaths like accountants obsessed. “I’ve transcended desire,” he muttered in prayer— desiring praise for the depth he possessed. Detachment attached to a badge on his jacket, humility draped in a glamorous fabric. Surrender converted to spiritual status, like fasting for followers, mastering habits. The worldly ego want money and mentions, the holy ego want monks’ conventions. One want a mansion with marble dimensions, the other want captions like “void of pretension.” Different disguise but identical hunger, trophies just traded for rosaries, brother. Corner office swapped for a cushion, but look at the posture—he pushing to hover. Dividing the planet in “sleepers” and “seers,” tier after tier of enlightenment peers. Scoreboard of silence, a violence of virtue, circles and sermons and vertical cheers. He say, “I’m aware,” with a flare in his stare, a glare at the unaware air that you share. Stink of enlightenment thick in the incense, pride in the guise of a monk with a prayer. (Bridge) What if awakening just another alias? Another arrangement of “I am the rarest”? What if the certainty carry the virus, wearing the rarest apparel of fairness? Ego ain’t demon, it’s theater seating, mask for the meeting of flesh and of feeling. Memory masonry shaping the face of a story we swore was solid and breathing. Born with no borders, no orders, no folders, just open awareness exposed to the morning. Layer by layer we tailor the player, naming the stranger and claiming the portrait. Nothing is evil in playing the role, trouble begin when we taking it sole. When we defending the fiction like friction between us and death is a breakable code. (Verse 3) So how do you stop him? You don’t with a blade. You don’t wage a war on a thought that you made. The hunter and hunted are one in the same, you fueling the duel every time that you aim. Observation—no operation, just watching the occupation. Cloud in the sky don’t need your compliance, don’t need defiance or proclamation. Play with the mask but don’t marry the makeup, wake up and bake up a laugh when you shake up. The ego’s a joker who thrive on the poker— go stone-faced, he folding the wager. Serious soldiers get smothered i...