• Audio

Lyrics

My mind is a matrix of streets,
Misty cretins get their feet tappin, heightens my anxiety seat.
sea-green and chilled like coffin hands,
my master plan to lose me like a certain Bo' Peep.
Go deep, and see what you can find for me,
Calculate my little brain's velocity,
Like a story by the great Ray Bradbury,
Science Fiction meets Spirituality,
I think you came to hear my diction,
Last stop, cuz my words are a brick's coefficient of friction.
They sort of an addiction,
Like Quazacotl's thunder clapping under solemn notice of eviction
Competition of the writer's market keeping a frown
Primping mandibles and flangable scipt
God is sick of man, never stick to plans,
Always going round in suits, always asking for hands,
Well, damn, just help yourself to helping yourself
So you can bruise the ego of American eagles,
Got them speeding off in speedos as thick as Cheneys receding hair line,
it's about damn time for a change, don't ya think?
It's kind of strange, don't ya think?
It's a pretty Small range, don't ya think?
Kind of Like a cage, don't ya think?
For a good rage, don't ya think?
Living by the page, don't ya think?
Acting for a stage, don't ya think to speak your mind?
My Ambient patter consistent with ya spicket grime
Her sultry seduction crawlin for knickerbocker steins
An alchoholic wife is a life that never shines.
With the rhythmic tic of my souls,
They hit'em pricks and poke around as forgotten ivy.
Their patterns pave juncture to thoughts,
Once thunk as unreachable,
But never seemed to be so unbreakable
force fields could be so mistakable
The plight of the pills in flight,
Subway Sandwich Mike Tyson in a bite
Evander in surgery, Jared's thin is a mystery,
Ugly as duck and blisters in spot light heat.
Jon Wayne got this game ball rollin boy,
X'in the boxes that makers the spot to soil,
Are Wii as free as we seem to be in the magazines?
Don't ya think?
Like a cage, don't ya think?
Living in this rage, don't ya think?
Acting for this stage, don't ya think?