| The dumb and deaf have been blinded
|
| Open to being close-minded
|
| Ignorance is bliss, innocence is silent
|
| Between the first and second digit
|
| Lies a needle, threaded with innocence
|
| Used to stitch the lips of these bruised ignorant people
|
| To keep 'em little
|
| Fuck lickin' shots, Felix stamps and
|
| Send our sadness to families across the planet
|
| Ay yo, I got a fuckin' problem
|
| Nobody cares though
|
| My fingernails just scrape the bottom of the barrel
|
| You can find my manifesto etched on gesso
|
| Or in the of your local record store
|
| Is that a metaphor for those that try’na label you?
|
| Uh-uh, it’s the fact that I write rage
|
| Letter bombs oppose you
|
| It’s the point of the rat trap
|
| The man that makes more
|
| That kid offerin' shoe polish in the back of the department store
|
| It''s all things encompassing, I summon the strain
|
| The days that break
|
| They take the heart and break it apart
|
| They veins need re-arranging
|
| Sing in harmony, the slightly out of key
|
| Gets his throat box ripped out, I pray that won’t be me
|
| Hollow followers dance to dead music (Y-you)
|
| The dumb and deaf have been blinded (Don't exist)
|
| Open to being close-minded
|
| Ignorance is bliss, innocence is silent
|
| Hollow followers dance to dead music
|
| The dumb and deaf have been blinded (You don’t exist)
|
| Open to being close-minded
|
| Ignorance is bliss, innocence is silent
|
| Dead music (dead music)
|
| Dead music (dead music)
|
| Dead music (Let's dance to dead music)
|
| Dead music
|
| Dead music (dead music)
|
| Hollow followers dance to dead music (dead music)
|
| Face first landed, you lookin at me slanted
|
| You better thank the bandit before you hang canvas
|
| My only chance is with these cards that I hold
|
| And I bet my life that I’ll probably fold
|
| No-one holds the door for a ghost anymore
|
| Y’all are still searchin for a reason to explore
|
| Still in the days where I’m building a cage
|
| For the dumb motherfuckers unwillin to change
|
| Let’s play a little game called 'fill in the blanks'
|
| Bury me alive until I’m feelin the pain
|
| Fire-hungry cavemen, sit and play with matches
|
| And then kill the flame when it catches
|
| You can’t build with ashes
|
| I feel attacked, with the ritual and sound
|
| Where everyone can picture 'bout what’s holding 'em down
|
| Push flows by the pound, it’s your corner store market
|
| Probably let you roll if you had a place to park it
|
| I can’t see the buckle that I’m marked with
|
| Can’t hear the screams when I dance to dead music and darkness
|
| Hollow followers dance to dead music
|
| The dumb and deaf have been blinded (You don’t exist)
|
| Open to being close-minded
|
| Ignorance is bliss, innocence is silent
|
| Hollow followers dance to dead music
|
| The dumb and deaf have been blinded (You don’t exist)
|
| Open to being close-minded
|
| Ignorance is bliss, innocence is silent
|
| He’s sat on a ledge, playin', sick of it all
|
| He wanted God to be his partner in the trust fall
|
| Closed his eyes, he used up all his last tries
|
| Argue with the voices in the back of his mind
|
| They said
|
| No, it wasn’t meant to be like this (Okay)
|
| No, it wasn’t meant to be this way
|
| No, it wasn’t supposed to happen so fast
|
| Yes, it was. |
| I can finally see that
|
| No, it wasn’t meant to be like this
|
| No, it wasn’t meant to be this way
|
| No, it wasn’t supposed to happen so fast
|
| Yes, it was. |
| I can finally see that
|
| There’s a stain on my beatbox
|
| But we don’t sing along anymore, we just watch
|
| Yes, it was. |
| I can finally see that |