| Who are you? |
| Survey says status sticks
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| I swim three laps through each synapsis
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| With my feet attached to bricks
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| So when our shitty third-world constructed social fabric rips
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| I’ll be treading water with every other iconoclast of fish
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| That’s a glitch in this system of O’s and ones
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| Bitches and clothes and drugs, in the midst of a frozen sun
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| I still start fires on this earth
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| Sparking lighters with this curse
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| I was given this addiction downward spiraling since birth
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| And it gets worse for fish kind, and I’d give mine to fix yours
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| But I’m just as sure I’ll be the one that dies in this abyss first
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| (Belly up, motherfucker!)
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| Best to pray I grow legs and hit dirt, ‘cause it’s safe to say this fish baits
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| a good occasion to get scurred
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| It goes hook line and sinker
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| I use my instincts to survive when blinded by lies
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| ‘Cause they look like the keys to true bliss
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| Well, here’s a few tips for anyone listening to me:
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| There’s plenty of fish in the sea
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| But only some finish the dream (know what I mean?)
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| I’m one step closer on this path that you laid
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| I’m one breath closer to the last one I’ll take
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| And I rest knowing that in your hands lies my fate
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| But I’m a little unsure if I’m worth every chance that you gave
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| I’m one step closer on this path that you laid
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| I’m one breath closer to the last one I’ll take
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| And I rest just hoping that in your hands lies my fate
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| But I’m unsure if I deserve to even ask to be saved
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| I’m a nomad, with no direction or designated section
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| Walking two parallel pathways trying to make a connection
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| Expressing myself on etch-a-sketches
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| ‘Cause I’m standing on shaky ground
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| And as the foundation starts to crumble
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| I watch high hopes start tumbling down
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| That rumbling sound you hear is from the belly of the beast
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| Until he feasts on young minds with ideals of peace
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| And meal time will never cease
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| Yeah, life’s a glutton for its own self-inflicted misery
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| Press the right button
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| And see a million clones rendition of bigotry
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| Is it because I hit the dot on the bottom of my question mark
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| Using my left hand with the utmost of dexterity?
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| And the day I stopped intoxicating myself
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| With conventional thought
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| Is when I had what you could call a moment of
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| Existentialist clarity
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| And it’s a rarity, in a world where we can see in three dimensions,
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| but so many fucking people are just one-sided
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| While some blinded by their faith in a system
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| Which has more cracks than a wiseguy
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| The rest just shook
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| Viewing the coming attractions with wide eyes (surprise!)
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| While some view life in a luxury box suite
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| I’m stuck with nose bleed seats
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| Trying to see my future through binoculars
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| Not sure if it’s success I see
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| Or just a recipe for self-destruction
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| With something sucking me towards the latter
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| And as my dreams begin to shatter
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| I mask my face focus on my task and question if it matters
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| But this inner sadness
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| Is harder to contain than piss in bladders
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| Swimming against the current: mainstream
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| But damn this fish done missed his ladder
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| So they slaughter me to sustain an energy efficient status
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| Disadvantaged with an image
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| That’s been hollowed out by the gram, to the point where a gaping hole trapped
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| in skin is all that I am
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| You’re witnessing the fall of a man never risen
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| Hence, defying the laws of physics simply by my existence
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| Distant from the norm
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| ‘Cause giving in is a breeze, but resistance is a storm
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| That leaves your presence ripped and torn
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| Like a victim to kids on Christmas morn'
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| They say time is of the essence
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| Each 60 seconds minutes form
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| So I waste what’s in my grasp, then miss it when it’s gone |