4:32

There was an itch for the heights

A tickle for a scratch 

I laughed 

It danced from the chin to the crown of my head

Not a spill in this state of perfection

The base of cup sang a tune 

The base of the jug was a b minor 

In awe of the frequency to the ears

I awe the science of the impossible 

For there is no air up here for such tune to travel 

I did not question Omni 

Nor his kingdom closer than my jugular vein 

For His word is Lord

...My word is Lord