Fire me up to speak this unadulterated truth as I see my antiquated youth selling slabs of gold they hold inside for a fucked up momentary high. All to escape the "why" Flickered up weed, liquored up liver so the death giver ain't that far behind. The chase is what they find behind clean blinds shuttered and closed. Thinkin nobody knows what's brewin in their ever dying souls. Body shrinkin, breath stinkin, death linkin as eyes grow dull from the lull of time passin slow when all they want to know is: Where is life?
Ignored question required suggestion that maybe chemical amnesia might help. Only to find death taking them farther away from answers and closer to addictive cancers hellbent on their destruction. Obstruction guiding them and riding them deep inside their foggy minds and dirty blinds they no longer need to clean. Taking them even deeper towards the crypt keeper they now call friend. This is called the bitter end as the clock that strikes "when" starts cracklin at their door. Crawl the floor but fuck the door, they need another high to forget the "why" they got this low in the first place when all they wanted to know is: Where is life?
I know the taste of this place and the fucked up face that follows. Leaves men and women hollow and dead because to feel is too fuckin real. To see is too fuckin me and the kind that hates the mirrored image looking back. Too far down for slack to make the climb but in your soul you notice time and what to do with seconds left. It's all you got so make more time...fuckin climb...
~Moses
Ignored question required suggestion that maybe chemical amnesia might help. Only to find death taking them farther away from answers and closer to addictive cancers hellbent on their destruction. Obstruction guiding them and riding them deep inside their foggy minds and dirty blinds they no longer need to clean. Taking them even deeper towards the crypt keeper they now call friend. This is called the bitter end as the clock that strikes "when" starts cracklin at their door. Crawl the floor but fuck the door, they need another high to forget the "why" they got this low in the first place when all they wanted to know is: Where is life?
I know the taste of this place and the fucked up face that follows. Leaves men and women hollow and dead because to feel is too fuckin real. To see is too fuckin me and the kind that hates the mirrored image looking back. Too far down for slack to make the climb but in your soul you notice time and what to do with seconds left. It's all you got so make more time...fuckin climb...
~Moses
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