this is a ploy of cold, cr*ss, sheep.
to only milk the pieces of truth that suit their means
and i was just wandering what you thought it’d bring
so hey, there’s a poison in your skin, i see it quietly seeping out of it
hey there’s a poison in your skin.
i see it coming, saw it coming out.
and i am the fortunate one
this, an attempt at feeding primal needs,
has woken all the demons that reside inside of me
and you still say that i am the fortunate one
well i could wash my hands to pretend they’re clean,
or i could purge my lips of spineless speech,
but the consequence of knowledge is an eager tongue
don’t you leave, i wasn’t finished. this isn’t over.
i will be heard
every last word will have its turn
mine may be the words unwisely sewn, to cultivate the path that i have chose
mine may be the words you’ll never know but lay me in the dirt and i will grow
are you listening? cause my breath grows null
tired quips begin to wither
who can reason with time?
lay me in the dirt and i will grow