I'll be writing till I'm dead or maybe till I'm alive. All the emptiness I've bled has only helped me survive. Something melted inside when the tones hit my pulse.
Move!. There's no telling what I'ma do. I'm eighty-thousand years of natural selection comin through. You ain't got as much aggression, possessions, weapons.
[Chorus x 2]. Rain. Everyone wants to get out of the rain. Wants to be free, wants to see no more pan. We're guaranteed that the season will change. 'Till then, I'm keeping sunshine on my brain.
Shut your fucking neck off, your fucking neck face. I'm a poor white trash can, Shut your fucking face off. I'm a poor white trash can sitting on a suburban lawn behind a sidewalk that stretches as far as I can see.
[Eyedea]. Well I guess this is it, I guess its uh.. time or whatever. So I guess I'll start it like this. . And I'll never again be as happy as I was when I was in the 7th grade.
No one really understands the experience that change lives. That pave an agnostic a place to lay in decay in toxic waste. So most every identity paraphernalia to familiarize with smiles neatly.
It took me a while to relize we were on the same page. I was getting tired of reading it aloud in different ways. I aint the only person thats traveled through this maze.
Were all born into this river without knowing how to swim. And eventually we learn how to keep this water under our chins. Some times this rivers so cold to be in.
Glass. By Eyedea. . I'm going to run from the voice of reason till it turns to laughter. Against the masquerade like I don't believe in the morning after..
[Eyedea]. Would you believe there's only four more people in the world. And when you're not looking they change masks. Somewhere over the rainbow it's the same.
I stand alone. Burned every bridge over the troubled water. No longer hiding from my personality disorder. A stronger tide is coming and I've been running.
this is a big fuck you to anyone out there that hates us. it aint my fault you fail to recognize what great is. if you weren't so caught up in who you dick ride.
I once met a man who trained himself not to dream. What he seems to have seen was a glimpse of everything. He's been painting pictures on canvas since age thirteen.
Everyone knew she was a special young girl. From her neighbors to her teachers. Some labeled her a prodigy, others called her a genius. It was amazing the way she could play the violin.
Teeth marks on the skin. The greatest trick the devil ever played was convincing me that I was him. We like to feel the blood and fat dripping off our gums.
What's your definition of dope?. 'Cause I think our opinions differ. 'Till your own skills develop, be wise and shut the hell up. I told you man, I'll fold your plans.
ha ha... ha ha... ha ha... it is kind of a funny story. He lives in a four by two glass box. It reminds me of my head. I wish my floor would have rocks,.
You know the type of girl that walks in front of you and makes your jaw drop?. She talks in riddles, and sort of tickles your soft spot. You see her in the club. She treats you like a scrub.
[Eyedea]. If someone grew up in a cubicle as Plato once suggested. They would only know the cubicle and not the world outside it. And they wouldn't view the cubicle as something geometric.
(Spoken). That's him in the corner of social oblivion. Encompassed by the sweet sense of freedom. That only borders the aura of deep cerebral gouges. Buried in each beat of the heart he was once proud to home.