| Used to draw
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| Hard to admit that I «used"to draw
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| Portraiture in a human form
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| Doodle of a two-headed unicorn, it was soothing
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| Moving his arm in a fusion of man made tools
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| And a muse from beyond
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| Even if it went beautifully wrong
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| It was tangible truth for a youth who refused to belong
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| No-name nuisance
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| Stools in a bedroom
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| Oozed in a brand new cuneiform
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| Barely commune with the horde
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| Got a whole grey scale ungluing his world
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| Might zone out to the yap of the magpie
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| Unseen hand dragging his graphite
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| Cross-contour, little bit of back light
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| Black ink after a Bristol to baptize
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| You can imagine a rush that ensue
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| When you get three dimensions stuffed into two
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| Then it’s off to a school where it’s all that you do
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| Being trained and observed by a capable few
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| Back in New York, five peeps and a dog
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| In a two bedroom doing menial jobs
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| Plus, rhyming and stealing and being a clod
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| Distractions free to maraud
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| I left some years a deer in the light
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| I left some will to spirit away
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| I let my fears materialize
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| I let my skills deteriorate
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| Haunted by the thought of what I should have been continuing
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| A mission that was rooted in a twenty year affinity and rickety condition with
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| an ID crisis
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| Nap on the front lawn, look up in the sky, it’s…
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| Shapes falling out of the fringe
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| All heart, though we would’ve made cowardly kings
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| They will chop you down just to count your rings
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| Just to count your rings, just to count your rings
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| And there were
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| Colors pouring out of the fringe
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| All heart, though we would’ve made cowardly kings
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| They will chop you down just to count your rings
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| Just to count your rings, just to count your rings
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| Used to paint
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| Hard to admit that I «used"to paint
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| Natural light on a human face
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| Stenciled fire on his roommate’s bass
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| It was blooming addiction
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| A miss and a push and a pigment
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| Book like a tattooed pigskin, look
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| Pinhead kids intermittent
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| Drank Kool-Aid from a tube of acrylic
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| And I grew up in a linseed oil over linen
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| Joy to the poison, voice in the resin
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| Capture a map of the gesture
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| Back up, add a little accurate fat to the figure
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| Redo that, move that inwards
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| Zinc-white lightning shoots from his fingers
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| Studios drone with allusions of tinctures
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| Stay tuned for the spooky adventures
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| You can imagine the stars that align
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| When a forearm starts foreshortening right
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| Or a torso hung on a warping spine
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| Of proportion reads as warm and alive
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| Routine day with a dirt cheap brush
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| Then a week goes by and it goes untouched
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| Then two, then three, then a month
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| Then the rest of your life, you beat yourself up
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| I left some seasons eager to fall
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| I left some work to bury alive
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| I let my means of being dissolve
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| I let my person curl up and die
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| Eating up his innards in unfeasible anxiety is brutally committed to
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| relinquishing his privacy aligning with the trials of the anti-Midas
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| Nap on the back lawn, look up at the sky, it’s…
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| Shapes falling out of the fringe
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| All heart, though we would’ve made cowardly kings
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| They will chop you down just to count your rings
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| Just to count your rings, just to count your rings
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| And there were
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| Colors pouring out of the fringe
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| All heart, though we would’ve made cowardly kings
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| They will chop you down just to count your rings
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| Just to count your rings, just to count your rings
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| I’m getting sick and tired of never understanding
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| Where is the truth you promised?! |