I posted the first verse to this a short while ago (and it was slept on like a flight to China). I edited it a little bit, wrote a second verse + a hook and decided to make it a throwaway song. Enjoy!
I pretty much follow a comment me--I comment you routine, so feel free to share your thoughts, and I'll do the same.
I wasn't hugged as a kid, just fucked with parent egos...
now I'm making snuff films, cause I'm tearin'-teen-hoes,
(we know...) I would burn the monastery down...
but there's no monetary value in your "fathers" empty house...
(let me out!)... I'm just searching through the sock drawers,
searching for a part of me that's orange with the clockwork,
cornered in the dark... I'll manipulate the daydreams...
and take a brush to readjust the painting of the mainstream...
we pray to live forever, while we're toppled by our Gods sword,
while vagabonds are laughing, writing novels on their cardboard...
(yeah...) that's what a hearts for... a tolerance for liquor, plus,
I bottle what I think so I can drink it when I'm liquored up...
I seek rejuvenation while I wait to watch the curvatures,
and learn to grow again, before the vodka mocks the vertigo,
(we've heard it all...) I'll pay the buck, cause who am I to disagree,
when lady luck is suicidal only for the sympathy?
This isn't poetry... There's no emotions here,
it's just a closeup of an open-seat... hope it leaves,
so I can kiss away the wreckage...
and try to start anew without the pillow case defensive... X2
I'm dope enough to take apart the shackles...
break the art of rap in hopes to make a mark that matters...
I'll space apart the shadows as I smile at my self-esteem...
so wild and aggressive with a child in the mess to clean...
Sure... I could cry but in the product that depression breeds,
is a selfish need, and I promised that I'd be selfless... (please!)
(I don't tear over the few minutes lost,)
(cause time doesn't exist, we're just using a clock...)
(and... I don't weep over the funeral costs,)
(cause time doesn't wait for us to prove that it's wrong)
so until then, I'll be searching for the moment of clarity...
surging through the omens and the tormented tarot reads...
cause apparently I'm molded in to form by a ghosts hands...
and still my bible's nothing but a coaster for coke cans...
I payed to live... but I'm just tired of the free time...
I'll find a place to leave behind the smiley face and peace sign...
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