1. |
FBS
02:36
|
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oh, wouldn’t it be such a nice introduction to tell you what you see is what you get?
but to tell the truth, you don’t know me.
not like you could've tried.
plaster me with an identity so I can hardly see
if that’s what makes you happy
my sight's getting worse
I sleep through the exits
you keep me up through the night
with the thoughts that I hide behind.
now gather round to see a portrait so bittersweet
you’ll place the blame on me
and when the colors start to fade,
take the artist to the stake
burn him at the stake
my sight is getting worse
I sleep through the exits
you keep me up through the night
with the thoughts that I hide behind.
now gather round to see...
the paint chip off this frame.
you’re speeding up the process
just get it over with, I can’t take this.
you look amused with your progress
and I can’t help but break through the paint
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2. |
Hangnail
02:47
|
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imagine a sea of screens watching, judging, hating anything they see,
then pan to a shot of me questioning everything.
get out if it means you'll be happy.
it's a brand you burnt into my back,
a blistered reminder of why I'm where I am.
twist my arms as much as you're twisting my words.
i don't think i'm the horse you want to bet on
or a person to have faith in,
i just filled in the dotted line.
now I'll hide behind the paint.
get out if it means you'll be happy.
it's a brand you burnt into my back,
a blistered reminder of why I'm where I am.
twist my arms as much as you're twisting my words.
there's no way i could make anyone happy.
i'm callous from how this has rubbed off me.
it's not as hard as you'd think, being made out of stone.
i wish i had this poetic poise, an articulate finesse.
i'm too clumsy and the words escape me.
i'm hazy and any passing thought can displace me.
it's a brand you burnt into my back,
a blistered reminder of why I'm where I am.
twist my arms as much as you're twisting my words.
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3. |
Confinement
01:52
|
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you might as well erase me.
i’ll leave a hazy trace that you’ll just write over anyway.
the ink can run, but it never gets away.
i wish i didn’t have to take a pill every day to feel okay.
i wouldn’t say i’m modest, i’m just not confident.
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4. |
Quarter Life
02:51
|
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time is the sand i can’t grasp.
everything falls through the cracks in my hands.
the sand hits the glass and there isn’t much left.
i feel as plain as the walls.
my age clings to my frame
and i still feel as plain as the walls that i’m staring at.
it’s about time and it’s not on my side.
all this time i’ve been occupied with the hands dealt and i thought that the deck would never run out.
i thought that the deck wouldn’t run out.
some times we’re too hard on ourselves,
but most times i hate myself.
it’s about time and it’s not on my side.
all this time i’ve been occupied with the hands dealt and i thought that the deck would never run out.
i thought that the deck wouldn’t run out.
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