| «I will soon start to read poetry
|
| Uh… might as well start about now»
|
| If my lungs can withstand these filth icicles
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| The angels dust across the land of false prophets
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| Maybe I clutch my poetry tighter
|
| Just to feel like these walls are still listening to drama
|
| Don’t bother the carpenter, there soon he plays harbinger
|
| He couldn’t shake the moccasin a moniker
|
| They only know him from watching upon their monitor
|
| Maybe they’ll cop a feel of a feeling from brain opera
|
| Life is an homage to death
|
| These cousins never kissed, nor laid in the bed to rest
|
| I sketch breath with sharp and broken pencils
|
| The message is permanent, it’s been etched into the mental
|
| «What do you think about the stars in the sky?»
|
| I’ll be seeing them soon
|
| «…in the, in the sky?»
|
| «It's okay, I guess»
|
| My skin is drenched in shadows
|
| But it’s high noon and I’m on the back of a camel
|
| Thirst is just an essence the devil is whispering
|
| As I slip into a room with a fountain, running rivers of gin
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| See what you can have if you just loosen your grip
|
| The noose is just a rope and the pupil is just a drip
|
| Seeking light in the the darkness
|
| The dog in me is barking
|
| I procure drops of dark matter
|
| It’s pure oceanic space inside my eyelids
|
| The planets are in my iris
|
| Bronze light beams gold, king Midas
|
| They duck diving, eat riches like pretty wives
|
| You never felt alive if you’ve never died
|
| My bones never ache and my soul never cries
|
| I fall weightless in the wake of greatness
|
| Life is an homage to death
|
| These cousins never kissed, nor laid in the bed to rest
|
| I sketch breath with sharp and broken pencils
|
| The message is permanent, it’s been etched into the mental
|
| «What do you think about the stars in the sky?»
|
| I’ll be seeing you soon
|
| «…in the, in the sky?»
|
| «It's okay, I guess» |