| Someone inject me with the venom from the jaws of iron, God-defyin'
|
| They said I’m on the cross to die-Pontius Pilate
|
| That’s the judge jury, injury, there’s no hung jury
|
| Hungry for the bloodlust, so hush-hush
|
| I’m a pushover, it’s a domino effect
|
| If you, think it’s a game I’ll put you collarbones in check
|
| I need Bacardi Gold when I hear my cardio, a card’ll go
|
| Up my sleeve, walk into the carnival
|
| Vámanos
|
| A mi barrio sigue
|
| Préndelo yo sobre todo
|
| Adíos debase
|
| Yeah my audios debase, but I don’t need a language change
|
| To explain they ape each other, all I see’s orangutans
|
| Bangers bang in the brain, it’s all a sea of 808s
|
| I’m from the state of rain, but I don’t reign my state, wait
|
| I lost my mind, when I went searching for a soul tonight
|
| I came up empty-handed when I learnt to play a role and take it slow
|
| I’m going slower
|
| Frozen in a coma
|
| I’m going nowhere
|
| I know it, I know it
|
| When I’m 38 I hope I’m a special
|
| Son-of-a-gun, jumpin' the gun so disheveled
|
| Holdin' shovels, diggin' holes with roses, settled
|
| With dumb hoes I used to know, but now those are echoes
|
| In this Mariana Trench
|
| Now I won’t carry on the stench
|
| Of the carry-on you’re carrying at your very own request
|
| You’re a parasite in my eyes, a burial is next motherfucker
|
| Hiding the monsters under covers
|
| Undercover girl, cover up, everyone’s a shutterbug
|
| And I’m so underground, I’m C.H.U.D
|
| Watch me make a puddle out your blood, umbrellas up above (acid rain, dancer)
|
| Plaster matter, mask-making Mad Hatter patterns
|
| Breaking at an addict at his lowest point and full of opioids
|
| A poster boy, ego destroyed
|
| Or maybe that’s just schadenfreude or a shout to Freud, I’ll take it slow
|
| «November Graveyard»
|
| So no dead men’s cries, flower forget-me-nots between the stones
|
| Paving this grave ground. |
| Here’s honest rot
|
| To unpick the elaborate heart, pare bone
|
| Free of the fictive vein. |
| When one stark skeleton
|
| Bulks real, all saints' tongues fall quiet:
|
| Flies watch no resurrections in the sun
|
| Stare, stare
|
| Till your eyes foist a vision dazzling on the wind:
|
| Rave on the leash of the starving mind
|
| The blank, untenanted air |