| Every night in my room and my head still tilts to the moon
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| Every night in my room and my head still tilts to the moon
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| Every night in my room and my head still tilts to the moon
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| I ask God why he still don’t like me
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| The moon still shines on my tomb like nightly
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| A self portrait from the boy from the D and
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| That’s tattooed right below the navel on my briefs
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| And as of late I’ve been in love with the image
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| That I gotta satisfy the only people that I’m missing
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| Now that’s fourteen names all stuck in my head
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| And that’s eight day ones while I still wet the bed
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| And that’s hardships found only answered by the bottle
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| And that’s suicide; |
| genocide; |
| all *coughs*
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| Tears still falling while the rhythm keeps flowing
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| And her last name now good riddance, she eloping
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| I feel utopia is here
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| And if George Orwell seen it all through the fear
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| And if Rembrandt’s strokes said the vision seem clear
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| And if Africa was life, would the sky seem clear?
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| With the words that I scrawl
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| Only live through the screen but the tales that I tell
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| Only dance in your dreams
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| The sage still burns 'cause the urn still close
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| Kids doing drugs while the schools sell hope
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| Sell hope, shit, I meant dope
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| Every night in my room and my head still tilts to the moon
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| Every night in my room and my head still tilts to the moon
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| Every night in my room and my head still tilts to the moon
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| Every night in my room and my head still tilts to the moon
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| To the moon, uh huh |