| One last vein to poke made it too dark to see this
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| Scenery slips then line up to go in the ground and leave us
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| So repeat this till I’m sick and I won’t feed this
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| To my little girl who kept me in this world to beat this
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| As a little kid taught to follow Jesus
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| Get to the front of the line I’m bein' lead by elitists
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| So when I speak words that I don’t mean
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| It’s like how only in a cloud do I know what serene is
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| Unable to wake and delete the reasons
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| Or be the same bed I made up to sleep with demons
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| Whether sick sane of a pattern repeated
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| If I spit pain I knew how to relieve it
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| If at sixteen I had started to treat it
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| Till my shit changed whether or not I would need it
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| To trace back to the face before the fetus
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| If the departure was wrong from the gate then she is
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| Trigger finger itch
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| The son of a snitch
|
| I’m the rat’s favorite son
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| Last to pal and cut
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| Slit to bleed the rust
|
| By the last heart I’ve won
|
| We roll under covers waiting
|
| I’ve tied off a limb debating
|
| If all of the names forsaken
|
| Spell out what I’m takin'
|
| Watching the skin pop
|
| I would do anything to
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| Tell you what I’ve been late to
|
| Fix up my head and escape to
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| Where I can rest my eyes
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| The sun says wake up with a beam in my eyes
|
| Clutchin' the bed like she’s still by my side part of me died
|
| Eat what I’m prescribed still just to be ostracized
|
| 'Cuz she don’t really know if she wants to ride or drive
|
| While no nooses long enough to hang my excuses
|
| Whether I’m dead, gun to my head, or reclusive
|
| The end is close almost no need for money
|
| Yet when I wished for death nobody took my life from me
|
| If I cannot see what’s right in front of me
|
| And the lights on there still wouldn’t be enough to leave
|
| I fixed me when I broke the aggression
|
| But I’m still attracted to my beautiful depression
|
| If I felt emotions I learned to suppress 'em
|
| Till I’m ready to sleep I’ll have found a place to rest then
|
| No thanks to angst I learned my lesson
|
| And can erase the face that can’t answer the questions
|
| Trigger finger itch the son of a snitch
|
| I’m the rat’s favorite son
|
| And by the time I’m back
|
| That heart that beats so black
|
| Let it shine like his gun
|
| We roll under covers waiting
|
| I’ve tied off a limb debating
|
| If all of the names forsaken
|
| Spell out what I’m taking
|
| Watching the skin pop |