Tekster:
The Planes

Money to be made best believe a nigga clockin, i run it myself like a quarterback option, I pitch a 10 g's tell a bitch to go shopping, she buy herself

cancel their plans, they change their minds Listen to your heart before you go too far You can turn around before it's too late, people miss planes People miss planes, people miss planes

i found this outside you. the road to your room is half as long as my list of regrets. i count my seconds inside you and struggle to find. instead i fall

somewhere between where we say and we do. we knew. bottle back. quick with burn. to burn this away

put your hands all over me let it burn, let it seethe let it stain, let it bleed it's just a reminder that we both hurt more than we care to remember

our histories, they hold no apologies and how we suffer what we can't, what we won't let go you sad little man, you scared little girl you're passing

and we're all dying from what we cant touch and we've built shines of where we've laid we're only lying to say we'll lay there again so fuck your remember

(its supposed to be a fucking catharsis a release from the daily grind)

it crept to me like a cancer in my sleep it gnawed the meat right from these bones and so it seems somewhere, somehow, the wonder was stole and the truths