Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Untitled, artist - Buck 65. Date of issue: 02.08.1999
Song language: English
Untitled |
| I wondered the fields and listen for the sound of drums |
| The colder the ground becomes the closer I get I home |
| The planet’s not fit to roam but with all the chaos |
| But, when I saw the savages I played the law of averages |
| And when the river splits in half, I start to lose my wits and laugh |
| And cry at the same time, there’s nothing I can do about it |
| Even though I wouldn’t doubt it, if the winds began to blow |
| And carry the sounds of my voice to the lands below |
| So I put my hands around my mouth and hollered to the sunken city |
| That, wallows in the filth of its own drunken pity |
| And wait to see a signal but a signal is never seen |
| Eventually fatigue builds inside me exponentially and so I sleep |
| And dream that I’m able to FLY they will respect a man with wings! |
| Later I awake, in agony and learn |
| That while I was sleeping the city had burned |
| Shrugging my shoulders, I paused and gathered thoughts |
| Think twice about staying put, then decide I rather not |
| So I press on in my agnostic pilgrimage |
| Knowing that I can swim deeper than the grim reaper |
| Ready for whatever sea creatures may abound |
| When the water swallows me and not the other way around |
| Survival saw me through the mechanical district |
| Starvation leads to being cannibalistic |
| I have to rely on cons and silence and on talking quick |
| Defending myself with nothing but this walking stick |
| I’ve never had friends and no parental guidance |
| I’m wild at heart and weird on top, I’m feared nonstop |
| Even though my rage is worn out |
| My life’s a book with several pages torn out |
| I just, climb trees and look for rhythm everywhere |
| I used to be the town crier in a city of stone throwers |
| Until my soul was laid bare and displayed in the parade square |
| Ignored, more than a lot, not less, no one understood my thought, process |
| I was gagged and bound over noise complaints |
| But, commanding the resolve that destroys constraints |
| I, found my escape in a melding of memories |
| The next thing I know, I’m rowing this boat |
| And blowing this note on an old tarnished trumpet |
| Ever since then I’ve been wondering lots |
| Watching the sky and pondering thoughts |
| Strange angel, music box genie |
| Behind for sometime and now I’m blind in one eye |
| And how this happened exactly will never be known |
| My thoughts take the shape of the hang-mans house |
| Never fails in time traveling salesman visit |