4 years old, i was in a playground digging for bones underneath the wood chips, under the stones, searching for the dead and gone dinosaurs with their dead end songs and then
when i was 7 i planted 20 peach pits in the backyard, one of them grew up to be a tree with 50 arms it bore the sweetest fruit i've ever tasted and the roots tore through the dirt tore through the pavement
all these animals with their paws in traps all the animals in this bar make me laugh it's the way that their faces sink at half mast it's the way that our bodies stink (make noise)
i already know them by heart. i've memorized their reflections and know the art. i’ve felt the rush of a big bet and got the scars covering each bit of this chest we'll play our parts but every performance will end
so if this is really the start of the finish i guess i gotta go ahead and settle for chipping away at the infinite... only felt alive for a minute's time... all I ever wanted was to be significant - not losing in my prime sacrificing my body pocket and mind for a taste of it spitting in the face of it they love it when a man plummets i'd pray but I can't stomach that rubbish
where do they really want to go when they die? in the clouds with the most high? underground or the sky with clown-like "BIG GUY"? in a wooden box with a suit and tie so the boll weevils can hide with some maggots in between toenails while arachnids swim inside bone marrow? or would they prefer to go sterile?
God Damnit
i’m locked inside this unforgiving planet where people chant of freedom and revolution but have never had it so i've been on a quest to find a way out of inevitable gravity and death and i'm at a turning point wondering if i should quit now but it's all in jest
i feel i'm dick deep and the writer's block raping my brain is editing out all the ways I want to say "fuck you" in good taste
this is an album about low living, sucking up dust and discovering quickly that the truth is unforgiving
all these animals with their paws in traps all the animals in this bar make me laugh it's the way that our faces sink at half mast it's the way that our bodies stink
9 years old saw a man get shot in the road robbed a bank never made it home that's my fucking hero though a gambler with no soul took a risk - buried in a hole
when i was 12 i dreamt abuelo never went to hell i dreamt he never shot and killed himself in that Puerto Rican motel where the cane rum sunk into the shelves i painted him in heaven
17 i made believe my father kept clean, that addiction wasn't built inside of me or david but the tree is still growing and it seems that the fruit it bore 10 years before just wasn't so sweet.
Julius i must say i must say (SAY) i never thought you would you fade