Picture a beautiful forest
I'm for it
Picture an apple as you core it
I adore it
Force your friend to keep in touch
Share a slice
Take a little give a bunch
Be nice

Ten foot tall titan talking in toungs
Hurry honey head home n' hide the young
It'll play your pineal gland like a puppet
A nap in the dirt forever? **** it
Long before your exposition you were already dead
Like a tumor it was nesting in your head
ever met a monster that would turn you into mulch?
That'll have you growing daisys in it's gulch?
Don't blame me or blame us, blame you.
Your delusions are no match for what is true.
One lies two lies three lies four
The monster mangles falshoods to the core
Leaves them at the door
Reality is not your drink to pour

Fighting for a feeling<br>
Freak my fur I feel a frost<br>
Fairly foreighn but familiar<br>
A feeling<br>
Feel me friend<br>
Funny and fantastical<br>
Fight a feeling<br>
Fighting for a feeling

get away with it
**** the allseeing
all omni in this or that sense
me and you have to go and get
any game go and bet
run with the cash and lay low
gripping on to every peso
all time low times on the way though
spring up and capture queso
hoarded like I might need that
don't touch that
stay off that i'm a pack rat
and toss me a kit kat
break it up  
get away with it

Another hot dump
another half pump
another old axe on the stump
drop it from the 36th floor
out the glass door
another apple rotten to the core
and i'm still caught chillin' on the shore
shopping at the stores
life moves on you keep up or move more
write it
ball it
toss it
just dump it.

Nothing means much from where I sit on a couch
Time's a cheap crutch if you're not living in the now
Two days before I die I might finally have a plan
A quick and easy three day plan

When the raiders ships hit the shore
Will you sit back because you set traps?
Or will the sight of sails shake your core
Though without permision you exist still the world insists you do your part
Whether pesemist or rich you have a job it's time to start
We all must earn the ditch in which we rot as another number on a chart
We're a dog pulling a load of thugs wearing golden chains in a shopping cart
The witness screams "He looks sick he needs a vet."
"Nah, he hasn't even broke a sweat."