Tekster: Mac Lethal. Backward.

You got a beautiful face

Sitting on the roof of the factory high
There's a blood orange moon in the strawberry sky
To come home soon is the wish and wonder
But I'm calmed by the boom of the distant thunder

Relax, there's no television static
Just the howls and never ending traffic
This world is plastic and fake
And I was born a few generations late

Illustrate my face, feel this spunky
I'm strange as hell, but I'm real as fuck
So follow my smell to the hollows and dells
And I'll show you the snakes as they swallow their tails

They're right there running the assembly lines
Where the coal gets shoveled by the carton smokers
They're parasites burrowed in the listeners' minds
Nevermind, scratch that, let me start this over

Man, how far does this pigeon hole travel?
Find the answer in the indigo shadows
Though you can unless you know the chant
Or the eight away labor line soldier ant

I held my mom as she died in my hands
Had to cancel the tour, I hope you guys understand
That the life of a man's gonna crack in the eyes of his fans
When he fails to supply the demand

Now if only I could catch my breath
I got spurs on my boots, I can etch my steps
So I can find my way home when I stretch my depth
But I gotta get a disclaimer off my chest

When I talk about social ills
Or the alcohol fix, or the potent pills
Understand that I wrote it with a soul to fill
I had to sketch myself a new home to build

I was baited and caught by decoys and free will
Wounded inside, I rejoiced in cheap thrills
My life was destroyed and rebuilt
Listen to the dangerous sweet noise and keep still

Introverted, borderline sick, disconcerted
Kinda slick when its quickly worded
Every tick, every twist, every drip's assertive
With the verse every pixel is picture perfect

When it burst, that's how I stitched the fervor
With the scraps and the bits of the sensory murder
And they're the antithesis as I'm ripping with the type of terrificness
It's the benefits of rhyming certificate

Kids are antsy when I'm spitting so the minute on the rhythm
And I'm gettin so inventive that there's really no equivalent
I'll rip a show, a pigeon hole, an invalid
Until they gotta tippy toe to get a dose of lithium

So tell the other kids to smell the blood I spit
Just to let 'em know what the hell they're fucking with (breath)
I've felt pain and I'll feel it again
Take 'em back to the end, start again

I got mental cravings for sinful tastings
And gentle phrasings with pencil shavings
I've felt pain and I'll feel it again
Take 'em back to the end, start again

Away

(Thanks to Charlatan for these lyrics)