I could vividly recall my mood the day that art was murdered
|
The wind blew a thin layer of dust on my garden bird
|
Everything you knew was sideways and phallic
|
The highways traffic added to Friday's madness
|
The warm wrinkled skin loosely hung of earnest cheekbones
|
Below eyes designed to bury the wolf under a sheep's clothes
|
Some peoples sang, a few begged for change
|
A young girl skipped a long with her hand glued to a candy cane
|
I, however, walked with my back to it as usual
|
Wanted to turn this dark comedy into a musical
|
I'm used to reflecting the sorrow the world reflects at me
|
We're forever intertwined as the anxious and angry
|
The gloom moves into oxygen, consumed to keep me lost within
|
A mushroom cloud of toxins deposited to leave the prophets doomed
|
There I sat on a lead infested picnic table
|
Waiting to be born, carefully evading mating season's evil horns
|
I keep performing for the poets and philosophers
|
But they don't know I was insane before and became popular
|
I lose something every time I leave my house
|
Trying to gain something by running my mouth
|
My conscience don't hold a grudge against my impulse
|
Honesty should be the best policy but it's not that simple
|
Have you ever had the sky inject a cloud into your lymph nodes
|
So all you see is how she gazes through a frameless window?
|
Everyday I have a new argument with myself
|
Wonder how I got this far up the ladder
|
But by now I should have failed
|
Can't go to heaven, never learned how to pray
|
Oh well, Rather be in a place with less people anyway
|
Somewhere between a snare and the extra-tire hogwash
|
I got caught in a motion of a sex-inspired god talk
|
My long-lost lover left me to date a real artist
|
Ain't it strange how the whole story can be told through a guitar rift
|
I'm a pretentious vendor of invention
|
A sentimented way of staying the center of attention
|
Take my advice and never take my advice
|
I haven't left my own head long enough to really know about life
|
But I dug dirt out of the ground and found Plato's time capsule
|
Inside was a note that said, "sorry I lied"
|
Part of my pride was dead the second that you talked to me
|
And I knew that no matter what lied ahead you wouldn't walk with me
|
So alone I traveled
|
Clown shoes through dirty speed infested tourist colonies
|
Tricking revolutionaries into thinking my records
|
A new age life-insurance policy
|
Then I'm off
|
And before they get the chance to give me a dirty look
|
Their money's spent at Borders on a brand new Christian Amerdy book
|
A sturdy hook deserves a better catch phrase
|
But I'm only still here because they can't detect
|
Neurotic tendencies with x-rays
|
It was a perfect day to sit and watch the wind
|
Cause the recognition of my insanity
|
Made me want to be hip-hop again
|
|
I make music to ride to, to cry to, to die to,
|
Times two, and finally realize you're alive to
|
|
I make music to vibe to, to close your eyes to
|
Break your mind from each vault that sits inside you
|
|
I make music for survival, to find you
|
To hide from the landscape humanity went blind to
|
|
I make music to rhyme to, to waste time to
|
To die to, to realize I'm alive to
|
|
-----------------
|
Soundtrack Of A Romance
|
| Eyedea |
