chapter one – invocation

let me invoke the muse and infuse this hip-hop
with words that enthuse and then cue the beat drop.
gather round; I'll expound it forthwith:
it's the profound sound of stereomyth.


lush, green port by the sea—
you contort cautiously as you slip between
the crates and grates
stacks of gold plates, scales with weights,
exotic merchants tattooed, but all you seek is food.

a beggar vagabond grey-hat street-rat orphan,
you grew up poor and forcing situations
so that you could survive.
the constable, he wants your life to end.
you have no choice. eyes moist, you go and steal again.

let me invoke the muse and infuse this hip-hop
with words that enthuse and then cue the beat drop.
gather round; I'll expound it forthwith:
it's the profound sound of stereomyth.


but admiral ackbar warned you that this would be a trap—
such hubris, lugubrious, now in medias res.
the constable does advance as you flee in a dance
that's played out so many times for your so very many crimes.

through houses stacked like turtle shells washed up by the tide
you evade and you run, duck, and hide
but never fight. sense of right still prevails,
but the cops, they pursue you like a pack of ravenous killer whales.

let me invoke the muse and infuse this hip-hop
with words that enthuse and then cue the beat drop.
gather round; I'll expound it forthwith:
it's the profound sound of stereomyth.


arrows sing as they begin to fling by your eye.
they catch you standing blinking, thinking “is today when i die?"
you get to running; now they gunning, so you reach for a rock,
and with a cry you let it fly then turn and head for the docks.

the rock misses the cops. they diss you in flock.
this pisses you off. the constable scoffs.
you cough as you notice that you've hit a dead end,
no friend in sight,
your would-be captors running not far behind.

your only choice is to stow on a boat
like the cold stows upon the frost, so you get lost.
you jump aboard and go below decks, but suddenly your plan's wrecked.
an old man grabs your hand and reprimands you, so completely vexed.

he takes your wrist, and with a twist he drags you up above,
and frowning, drowning in your mind, you see the cops, they have no love.
but then a crackle and surge, you hear a booming voice purge ring out.
the old man bellows with a terrible shout.

the costable flips, jeans dripping with piss.
he trips as he runs, and fleeing en masse the crooks forget their guns.
the old man breathes and bows and starts to pray.
you feel the boat begin to slide away into the bay.

let me invoke the muse and infuse this hip-hop
with words that enthuse and then cue the beat drop.
gather round; I'll expound it forthwith:
it's the profound sound of stereomyth.