I've grown tired of sifting sighs you make / With every word I utter / Seeing your eyes flip in disdain / Over feelings from the gutter / Now with a soul the size of needle's eye / I come to tie down / To have your ears for a while… / And you got him there/ Pale face, blank stare but the lips won't fucking part / Tries to gather the threads of a tangled speech he's woven for so long / Now none of the scabs seem to fit his wounds / And the words bring no relief / And all he says is: "I do, Oh I do not regret a single second of being yer thief" / The rain of thoughts keeps pouring down / And I know this matters as much as a grain of sand does / To a desert plain / One life out of billion / I dare to say / And I know I matter / As much as a grain of sand does / To a desert plain / Being "one out of billion” / Draw the curtains ‘round me / Conceal the scene of crime / The story's over now / The story's over / Can't reconcile, and rectify / The harms of past / The guilt-soaked repentances won’t do this time / And I know this matters as much as a grain of sand does / To a desert plain / And I know I matter / As much as a grain of sand does / To a desert plain / I dare to say / Draw the curtains ‘round me / The story's over now.
Spoken word never felt more like singing before. This record is a giant erected middle finger shoved right into the faces of the overproduced post-whatever-core bands. Momma Knows Best
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