Текст песни
What else could he be but a jester?
In a make-out session with aggression
Putting morals into question, seven minutes in heaven
Every twenty-four hours I'm raffling
Handprint on my face and nobody smacked me
A ghostly caress on my cheek has me laughing and gagging
Hear my body fucking bragging
About the brain that's still lagging
Elevator to the bottom of my ribcage
Flip it to the next page, letters all stacked on each other
Lost touch with a goal
Vision is blurred, ran straight into a pole
Elevator to the bottom of my ribcage
Flip it to the next page, letters all stacked on each other
Lost touch with a goal
Vision is blurred, ran straight into a pole
I was in Chicken Run, that's why I'm here now
So many stories, yeah, so much drama, wow
Everyone treats me like an old smoke stack
Like the tilted brim of a Party City hat
Can't get a word in, can't get nothing down
Nothing on paper except the layout of this ghost town
I write Tonapah cleverly
Like Goldfield's elderly
Wobbling down a brick road, I hunt for my reflection
No more algorithm when I'm in the rhythm section
Mental inspection always searching for perfection
Like Halloween candy, I give out brilliant affection
Creeping around the city, whip around the corner
Pull up to a Dell, let me take your order
Peekin' out my window, see a hearse doing donuts
Time to close the shutters, time to close the shutters
Elevator to the bottom of my ribcage
Flip it to the next page, letters all stacked on each other
Lost touch with a goal
Vision is blurred, ran straight into a pole