Once This garden grew just light. Just like an ivy, blinding eyes to the walls that hide behind, ascending high. We looked away and everything was
. Once hibernating, they now awaken." You're going nowhere [x6] Girl, when I speak I say that which i mean All these expensive art school teach is
So it came to pass that I'd stayed with you long after they had left. So now you pace the hall, talking to the oil portraits along the walls. I know
Tired stars navigate the tiny storms teeming on the far shores of your waist Tired of waiting for my stationary third world to rotate So you filled it
our imperfect form. There is no port from the storm. No shelter from the wrong that I've brought along and I've caused it all. There is no port from
I am the unfortunate tourist, stranded At the edge of your bed. Shipwrecked. Journeyed from the depths of our drinks to the small curves of your legs
insincerities And use our routines to increase the revenue and get the kids ready for school. Rise with the sun and leave our secrets sleeping in. This is
And We returned to heaven to confront our resurrected horrors, they'd restlessly started a horrible revolt. So I smashed their thieving greedy blackened
You're no good for me My formulated drug an acquired taste awaits to sate this unrequited love It tastes so gray, yet necessary to sustain frustration
We wade out into it, Dawn of the century. We're way out, we raise up our arms and wave them in disbelief. And like brothers we march each other right
As they laid my bones down at the crossroads, I saw my ghost sell my soul to the inferno for petrol to get home. Now each day I sink a bit faster
m a spit flames till I'm dead and the angels sing Cuz when you hot that's what this game'll bring And I'm sick with this, my flow is fuckin ridiculous
rap artist Missin' old dude is from the old school He abide by the old rules And our Pro-Tools is 38 longs The crime rate will inflate and the murder rate is
rap artist missin old dude is from the old school he abide by the old rules and our pro-tools, is 38 longs The crime rate will inflate, and the murder rate is
ol' fools Who ain't got much to live for Take me out They got life, without parole And I'm dead and gone Six feet, with nothing in hand Just the outbreed Back from the dead
all going to hell. And what I mean to say is that I mean that in the best possible way So let's hear it for living your whole life until your dead from
What began as a poem is now just a burden, a vicious song that's mine to keep. What began as forgetting is now just a prototype of ways to fight
plan an escape. Dead broke and happy and sitting in traffic again, we're down to one lane cause New York is never gonna change but I can treat lungs
