| It sits and corrodes in the bottomless pit of my soul
|
| Becoming half of the better damaged portion of what’s whole
|
| Some call it sick, deranged, insane and sometimes
|
| I prefer it rather that to be just labeled this plain
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| Or played like some disfigured chess piece
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| In life’s corrupted game
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| Feel the sorrow
|
| Life reaps and sows, accepting it
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| But still wanting to grow
|
| Or just let go but the grips from the fingertips
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| Of insanity’s overbearing hold
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| Feels airtight
|
| As if I need the jaws of life to come and cut me
|
| Out the darkness in an effort to shed light on the subject
|
| To the public, the world can live without me
|
| Still feel blessed inside to speak my mind
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| And hoping they never doubt me
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| And through death hoping they remember
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| And never ever will they ever forget about me
|
| And if I’m resurrected
|
| Second coming of second life
|
| Second chance to know about me to have sight
|
| Beyond sight, close your eyes and still see
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| If I were just the same
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| As the rest of you little robots
|
| Then I prefer to be shot
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| Induce me with the pain
|
| Shoot venom in my veins
|
| Cause you don’t know my story
|
| No, you don’t know my story
|
| There’s really nothing for me
|
| So leave me in this worry
|
| (In the end is glory)
|
| Feel like an 8 by 10 in a 5 by 7
|
| I’m in the wrong frame of mind
|
| And I wish my indiscretions had a warning sign
|
| But I get by
|
| And that’s a lie
|
| But I gotta refuse to let em' know
|
| That on the line in which I ride
|
| I choose to break away
|
| Wanna bring it back
|
| That which you take from me
|
| Even if it means I gotta go to war with everyone
|
| Who wanted to end my little bit of everything
|
| Guess I’m too mad or too sad to sing
|
| I was born in a city
|
| But now I’m living in a confused state
|
| That’s full of decay like a toothache
|
| They tried to pull me out but it was too late
|
| Now I’m a product of a brand new hate
|
| I’d rather die than be what you say
|
| Living a lie to let the truth hang
|
| Individualize me like a new gang
|
| While the rest of y’all just sit there and get played
|
| I’m drowning in a pool of my surroundings
|
| I put this knife to my Adam’s apple
|
| Let’s start the backwards countdown from ten
|
| I’m a tatted rascal
|
| Fleeting from the lines
|
| An acid jackal
|
| Shackles all on my palms
|
| Because psychedelic trips gone bad
|
| Recollections of my pissed off dad
|
| Sitting in the pathfinder
|
| And I still ain’t found shit but
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| Old silhouetted pictures of me with my wrist cut
|
| And I wish you well
|
| Hell, I was bullied by the minotaur
|
| School with a crew
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| With a toolie
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| Inside a rental car
|
| You don’t learn from god inside a seminar
|
| But you hear about the devil every which way you turn
|
| Perhaps we were made to burn in hellfire
|
| And I desire to be stronger
|
| But the songs I sing
|
| Go ever somber in this life of mine
|
| Memoirs of the suicidal
|
| I guess my father is my truest idol
|
| Gone |