| Take me to the basement
|
| Let me count the holes in your foundation
|
| Ancient ridicule system alert, kissing my lurk
|
| The perch of rare grimace on iron mask
|
| I remember science class
|
| If chemistry could silence the lions laugh I’d be fine
|
| (I fail to) Meddlin' up
|
| Adrenaline trades the leaves that walk the plank
|
| Before the crimson struck a match this season
|
| Meridian carpal will jolt your logic
|
| When the burn earned its self normalcy for 20 plus
|
| Run amok or sink; |
| swim’s not an option
|
| She applied the lipstick slow
|
| Slow enough for me to bask in
|
| Fast enough for me to wish it lasted
|
| Past my alarms cackling
|
| The front line of its mystiques, geeked off my proposals
|
| Bargains for the ogres who prefer the roller coasters
|
| (I prefer the roller coasters)
|
| Well that’ll sip the blood of merry men
|
| That’ll grace holiday carols where the 'merry' ends
|
| Spiral past the auto craft, exhale into vinyl raft
|
| And pirate your local rain puddle torturous
|
| Try to shake pilot fish off your dorsal fins
|
| Lets dive through the archives, Xanax on frantic planet
|
| Stamp it with a notable brand to reap the profit
|
| See I don’t know hell but I’ve read about it often
|
| Sounds like a dope concept gone wrong
|
| (Note to caution)
|
| Take me to the basement
|
| Lets zoom into that war pig sensation
|
| Take me to the basement
|
| Lets disassemble the core’s rotation
|
| Sayin', if you choose to build it you’ll die by the tools you build with
|
| So make some noise for all your predecessors reppin' sturdy grill-age
|
| Take me to the basement
|
| Lets deny the nervous room to pace in
|
| Take me to the basement
|
| Lets review the hearts ramifications
|
| Sayin', if you choose to build or you’ll die by the tools you build with
|
| So make some noise for all your predecessors reppin' sturdy grill-age
|
| Take me to the basement
|
| Lets remove the costume you escaped in
|
| Hold up your legacies, I’ll tell you which one’s my favorite
|
| Hold up your alacritive innocence
|
| I’ll teach you about the perks of patience in seminar format. |
| (What?)
|
| I’ve worn that hat for seven years
|
| That’s why it’s discolored, ragged and shitty
|
| I ain’t about to toss it when its been through all these dream wars with me
|
| I’m an undercover prophet, thrift shop garb
|
| I’d rather starve then sit inside this gridlock until it parts
|
| This tailor-made routinē ain’t suitin' me
|
| It’s tight around my neck like 13 loops, rafter, an apple box
|
| Heartless harvest of mine, I’m tired of pissin' benediction
|
| Maybe it ain’t healthy, but sometimes I’d rather burn then let you help me
|
| It’s getting brisk, brick as fuck
|
| My skin ain’t thick enough, these icicles ain’t civil
|
| How many freezer burn victims can one society on tilt manufacture prior to
|
| higher being intervening just to release last laughter
|
| And every tree trunk’s made of third rails with tourniquet branches
|
| And I learned to walk with an anchor in my back pocket
|
| And man, I read palms during even the most brief handshakes
|
| And man I ain’t alive to pull the weeds around the spotlit
|
| Well I’m wallowin', followin' my little lost princess to the promised land
|
| Hollerin' my potent slogan, hell, if Nostradamus can
|
| Conquering these open roads with throttle pin to floor
|
| Cause I’mma win right after I finish these chores
|
| Take me to the basement
|
| Lets zoom into that war pig sensation
|
| Take me to the basement
|
| Lets disassemble the core’s rotation
|
| Sayin', if you choose to build it, you’ll die by the tools you build with
|
| So make some noise for all your predecessors reppin' sturdy grill-age
|
| Take me to the basement
|
| Lets deny the nervous rooms of pacin'
|
| Take me to the basement
|
| Lets review the heart’s ramifications
|
| I’m sayin', if you choose to build or you’ll die by the tools you build with
|
| So make some noise for all your predecessors reppin' sturdy grill-age
|
| Take me to the basement…
|
| «I think the greatest harm done the human race has been done by the poets.»
|
| «Well, poets are dull boys, most of them, but not a lot are especially fiendish.
|
| «They keep filling people’s heads with delusions about… love.» |