Sadistik: He said, '**** sobriety, death to the worker bees' Thirteen circles I've stepped for eternity Burning purple, stressed on a murder spree It's self-inflicted, don't get it twisted These knives in my back now, Elliott Smith (yeah) Rides in the background, melodies fit (yeah) Mixed with The Misfits, fixes the hurt When the lips that I kiss with press to the dirt French-kiss vixens, distant and cursed Burned bridges occurred from scriptin' my words Word, so I'll chisel a verse On these lie-filled halls that I've lived in and searched I'm still lost in a head of catacombs Cause I build walls like I'm Edgar Allan Poe I've killed off every damsel that I know For castles that I keep, castles that I know Deacon: I'm having spirits in the dark Laying under moonlight Laughing with a stranger like I’ve saved her from her doomed life Pop a couple percs A perk of anonymity Trapped within a curse that I created with my energy A path that I rehearse A cycle on repeat Life is like a lion and i’m dying at it’s feet I roll another a sweet Check my muted Treo I’ve seemed to miss the plot too busy caught up in the b-roll My eye up to the key-hole Scared to turn the knob and go out on my own Instead I blend in with the mob My memory bank the only thing I tend to rob and every time I’m thrown the lob i’m out of Dodge It’s hard On the blvd and other cliches The type of ******** that I’m feeding self these days Corrosion on my relays One day my mirror shows an Emp in new clothes exposed Aesop Rock: I mow a dead lawn Aim for the alpha Ten claws deck the halls of Valhalla Not a man or receptacle for crestfallen matter Never tempered or pressed into patterns But just won’t die Instead of palpitation from the plasma Pumping disenchanting anecdotes And antiquated data at 'em I get these headaches that climb down into my stomach Then off in my extremities and out into the public In a flood of shadow puppetry Something in the air Got a tiny pull of energy becoming self- aware Its recognizing family in alpha numeric characters Scenery and deities with unassuming avatars Close encounters exacerbate his condition From placid to a bastion of classic misdirection Tune into the Casio adventures When the rest of me can barely form a God damn sentence!
Sadistik: He said, '**** sobriety, death to the worker bees' Thirteen circles I've stepped for eternity Burning purple, stressed on a murder spree It's self-inflicted, don't get it twisted These knives in my back now, Elliott Smith (yeah) Rides in the background, melodies fit (yeah) Mixed with The Misfits, fixes the hurt When the lips that I kiss with press to the dirt French-kiss vixens, distant and cursed Burned bridges occurred from scriptin' my words Word, so I'll chisel a verse On these lie-filled halls that I've lived in and searched I'm still lost in a head of catacombs Cause I build walls like I'm Edgar Allan Poe I've killed off every damsel that I know For castles that I keep, castles that I know Deacon: I'm having spirits in the dark Laying under moonlight Laughing with a stranger like I’ve saved her from her doomed life Pop a couple percs A perk of anonymity Trapped within a curse that I created with my energy A path that I rehearse A cycle on repeat Life is like a lion and i’m dying at it’s feet I roll another a sweet Check my muted Treo I’ve seemed to miss the plot too busy caught up in the b-roll My eye up to the key-hole Scared to turn the knob and go out on my own Instead I blend in with the mob My memory bank the only thing I tend to rob and every time I’m thrown the lob i’m out of Dodge It’s hard On the blvd and other cliches The type of ******** that I’m feeding self these days Corrosion on my relays One day my mirror shows an Emp in new clothes exposed Aesop Rock: I mow a dead lawn Aim for the alpha Ten claws deck the halls of Valhalla Not a man or receptacle for crestfallen matter Never tempered or pressed into patterns But just won’t die Instead of palpitation from the plasma Pumping disenchanting anecdotes And antiquated data at 'em I get these headaches that climb down into my stomach Then off in my extremities and out into the public In a flood of shadow puppetry Something in the air Got a tiny pull of energy becoming self- aware Its recognizing family in alpha numeric characters Scenery and deities with unassuming avatars Close encounters exacerbate his condition From placid to a bastion of classic misdirection Tune into the Casio adventures When the rest of me can barely form a God damn sentence!
