| My intestines tangled, I’m tempted to rip them out
|
| Throw them at my doctor, Sick with pick one
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| Crones or karma. |
| Crones or karma
|
| God I am imperfect, and it’s your stubborn fault
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| Your arrogant boast, your highly priced Heaven
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| My stomach hanging out, Feel the tendons pop
|
| The relief is coming
|
| I did this myself, I had no savior, I am responsible
|
| Damning your prayers, secretly saving them in vain
|
| And the story goes there’s no way to stop what’s
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| Coming, Your years of drugs and carlessness say it all
|
| From the dawn of my Measly adult existence
|
| I fight to keep my
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| Head somewhat on an even scale
|
| It’s not an easy thing to accomplish
|
| But become strong by breaking everything
|
| Lay there cold like a stuck pig, I’m conscious and
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| They have no idea… Slice, into numb flesh
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| My eyes have to run
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| Lay there, strapped down, own protection
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| Suffocating, For a moment death is emulated
|
| Lay there strapped down death is emulated
|
| I did this myself, I had no savior, I am responsible… |