| You’re like the calmest slit to my neck
|
| Bring me in closer
|
| Spruce up my soul and you fill it with coal then you douse it in lava
|
| Chained to my desk
|
| Beckoning nausea
|
| Desperately chosen from a crowd of one, and I, I
|
| Call me «Mr. |
| Rattlebone»
|
| Holy Ghost who haunts your home
|
| They don’t know you like I know
|
| Call me «Mr. |
| Rattlebone»
|
| That’s right, «fuck all the drama»
|
| I’ll be your muse
|
| Now, take what I offer
|
| Straight up the nose, down the throat
|
| It’s a bearable bruise on your conscience
|
| But don’t it feel good?
|
| Don’t you feel calmer?
|
| I am the way and the life in the best looking truth
|
| Oh, oh, oh, oh
|
| Call me «Mr. |
| Rattlebone»
|
| Holy Ghost who haunts your home
|
| They don’t know you like I know
|
| Call me «Mr. |
| Rattlebone»
|
| I am the driver, I am the shadow, and I am the hearse
|
| I am the driver, I am the shadow, and I am the hearse
|
| I am the driver, I am the shadow, and I am the hearse
|
| I am the driver, I am the shadow, and I am the hearse
|
| I am the driver, I am the shadow, and I am the hearse
|
| I am the driver, I am the shadow, and I am the hearse
|
| I am the driver, I am the shadow, and I am the hearse
|
| I am the driver, I am the shadow, and I am the hearse |