| Awestricken, my brow furled up, my lip is curled
|
| All distant, need a referral for a different world
|
| Audacious my instinct is to go and get small places
|
| Fuck your lease, I don’t owe you shit
|
| Outlandish, I get low and I hover there
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| Not branded, cause if they could they’d discover air
|
| Rain Walrus, under a pelt like a brother bear
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| Stone Fragments trapped in air tight tupperware
|
| Who’s missing? |
| The headcount says minus 1
|
| Dude, listen: Priest, my mouth is a zion’s gun
|
| Intrepid, below ice like the submarine
|
| Been sectioned, looking at old tight drum machines
|
| Mixed potions, Hoping to grow like Thumbelin'
|
| Your shit’s broken, so watch me roll like tumbleweed
|
| Old patterns breaking, interrupt duplicates
|
| No data: blank, your concept’s toothless
|
| It’s done
|
| I am a dead man walking
|
| Them streets ain’t talking, man
|
| They busy talking on they phones
|
| Favoriting they problems, liking all they causes
|
| Can’t help feelin' alone
|
| I’m tryna live it while I can
|
| Feeling every feeling, every feeling I can stand
|
| Unplugged, unstuck instead of unwound and undone
|
| (Head down, thumbs up)
|
| Instead of lost in the infinite
|
| Woke up flat broke in a back seat
|
| Low-ball recalling til I choke down the caffeine
|
| Throbbing in my back when I feel the earth beneath my feet
|
| Life’s no beach, it’s a rabid dog in heat
|
| And I’m not your hostage, I’m hot potato—hash you out later
|
| Not now, I’m way too gone for the page you’re on
|
| In fact I burned the whole book like my next high depended on it
|
| Batting fat lashes at the casting, ranting
|
| «Save the fucking dolphins, you guys,»
|
| While I mash a tuna sandwich
|
| Fables never sounded so rounded and pounding
|
| Never wound down, never found out
|
| Who’s counting, who’s down with us
|
| Should be obvious not a network mess
|
| I guess that’s why my cuticles uplift in upset for the present unkept
|
| Tenderness of my fleshiness
|
| Dead with the swelling of this particular winter’s discontent
|
| I am a dead man walking
|
| Them streets ain’t talking, man
|
| They busy talking on they phones
|
| Favoring all my problems, liking all my causes
|
| Can’t help feelin' alone
|
| I’m tryna live it while I can
|
| Feeling every feeling, every feeling I can stand
|
| Unplugged, unstuck instead of unwound and undone
|
| (Head down, thumbs up)
|
| Instead of lost in the infinite
|
| Huh? |
| Compare myself to who?
|
| Skitching on this mother ship
|
| Rock with a champion crew
|
| Fit in with this other shit
|
| I don’t even know what they do
|
| I ain’t tryna learn, it’s servant shit I never knew
|
| I’m a professional profession skipper
|
| Never been a job I didn’t quit to hit a stage and rip it
|
| Get it in, Get into it
|
| Better with this, off the map
|
| I’m ten and two-ing, keep it moving constantly
|
| Keep that foolish off of me
|
| Possibilities are literally limitless
|
| But that screen is inches from your vision, man
|
| That scenery is written text
|
| Tryna knowledge up this girl
|
| Who’s talking on her phone though
|
| Typing hella awkward
|
| Bout some other chick she don’t know
|
| Hate the hand dealt, self-help through selfie therapy
|
| Play the feels felt with your digital self, aimlessly
|
| Only dramatic people utter «no drama»
|
| Butter-nutting that beef they only seem to keep a pound of
|
| Right? |
| Fuck |