In this world...It's like...
we're destined in the same direction
with possesion of the thought's expression
writting elaborated seconds off the clock
sharing the distrubance, ceased by clot
voice contained, ready, but reluctantly refrained
shadowed fame, substantial, but am I pro-claimed?
another stain, accumulative lascerations
this effort, this toll forces me unto probation
weary and delerious, can i be serious?
with wondering eyes, despised, inferior equals us
turn my back on you, and ride my spine
and merge with me when my nerves divine
ruinite and fight against the torn paper
name it a bitch - abuse and rape her
now i've got my grip, a docile instrument
opposing the gauntlet, fire words abolishing predicaments
call it indefinite, then witness as i persist
to puncture capsuls sealed by your very own shit
Insane? maybe - Conniption fit? dead on
relevant to my words indirect path it's prolonged
In this world...It's like...
i've been degraded, whipped, and scorned
i tear the rose because i've been left with thorns
still i'm stuck on I with this pen
because my mind has left yoU out again
we all have similar thoughts then do away with
only purpose served is to display the image
The picture is...The mixture is...
the world is shit and you've all consumed
talked the filth unto me and continued
In this world...It's like
you've pushed the shove and back again
but it's not you, it's the world you're in
i grasp the pen, head back to my room
obscene gestures towards the world...
i won't be seeing you soon.
In this world...It's like...
a memory written on paper.