Why you goin around, trying to keep people outta hell?
|
I'm goin around, trying to keep the hell outta people.
|
|
Your evil sends chills through my bones
|
And it flows through the back roads of arteries.
|
Genetic memory fights technology
|
Administered by moral midgets
|
Theres picket signs in my eyes when they strike
|
You'll wanna talk business.
|
Note to self; go for self, go for broke
|
No one else ever showed you the ropes or helped
|
And what are they supposed to do?
|
Of course they gotta rebuild every wall that you broke on through.
|
Drugs wont get my thoughts running, I need them to make thoughts stop coming
|
Last night I had dream I shot someone
|
When I awoke my hands were full of the fluid my hearts pumping
|
I went to get it tested, the doctor was not so interested in analyzing the message
|
He had a pill, that if he issues out
|
He gets paid on the side, Got a lifetime supply.
|
|
[hook]
|
Maybe hes the ghost, and maybe I'm the host
|
The polterzietgeist who knows the right price
|
To pay the priest to release me from these ropes
|
and
|
Maybe I'm the ghost, and maybe hes the host
|
The polterzietgeist who knows the right price
|
To pay the priest to release me from these ropes
|
|
Fell into a Venus fly trap with a nicotine eye-patch
|
Pirate of the ship sipping Listerine night caps.
|
disguised her voice with the breath of a clean slate
|
awake every morning to the death of my dream date.
|
selling sex to cheapskates with rusty blades
|
fuck to forget and call it layaway
|
Got an addiction to thin ice
|
the whisper of wind pipes
|
I'm mister insight, the social costume's skin tight
|
nah, I don't believe in you
|
and you don't believe that I'm leaving you.
|
as you shrink away to nothing in my rear view
|
to close to call, to far to be hearing you
|
singing my melody I heard it subconsciously
|
you spoke in your sleep, and it sounded like honesty
|
When you awoke you said "it was not for me"
|
I said "oh, I know obviously"
|
You're not my yo-yo so I cropped the photo
|
and I rocked this solo now you gots to go
|
|
[hook]
|
|
Maybe you're a ghost, and I'm the conduit
|
the kinda thread in every superficial compliment
|
the loose string in your moral fabric
|
holding your logic, hopelessly romantic
|
and (going??) psychic
|
Leaving notes for the next to come
|
written in blood from the wound that they'll exit from
|
I don't compose rows or sonnets I just write like my life depends on it
|
Front like I'm agnostic, but I don't believe in you
|
You got a transparent nature that I'm seeing through
|
somebody spiked the punch that you beat me to
|
sometimes I'm not even sure its even you.
|
|
[hook]
|
|
-----------------
|
Polterzeitgeist
|
| Sage Francis |
