What began as a poem is now just a burden, a vicious song that’s mine to keep. What began as forgetting is now just a prototype of ways to fight off sleep Arm the thieves with the wings and weights of soldiers to deepen the pockets of the meek Make mixtapes of other peoples problems and burn everyone CD’s. Cause they’ve built themselves some charade where a saving grace is hard to find. What began as a song ended up as a death threat addressed to everyone’s house but mine. So far confined into dead ends with greater love of consequence and a quiver filled with bad intentions to let them fall where they may. So tell them for their own sake Do your best to stay awake The burden’s are mine, contently confined to carve the lines in acetate. Get the syringe. Let’s see if ink to page brings the same fear as life, love and medicine. It can break skin Let’s see who feels it. Things have changed so little from the way I planned it a ventricle scarred, lined with mathematics. And an escape to my old best advantage a savagely serrated pen.
Get the syringe Let’s see if ink to page brings the same fear as life, love and medicine It can break skin it can’t break me. Here’s your advantage Things have changed so little from the way I planned it a scab to heal hopeless semantics It’s all romantics We’re all romantics. The math is coincidence.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
