First and foremost I declare that I know the most about ******* over every person I hold close, I play them like notes;
Now this sentence will run, and this time it's not for fun; I'm a little drunk off the ***; but these feelings are ripe like a plum,
So I pick em and split em and break them down to pieces like a Reese's hoping that I can comprehend em, but I can only compress them and stuff them away.
It's the same **** every day like I'm stuck on repeat, like a shooting a 3, I hover on the boundary: I ask how do I please
Myself and everyone else, **** my life and everyone else. I feel like a doll on a shelf watching the world pass me by; the sands pass through hourglasses always on time.
Sure I'm getting carried away, wish I'd get wiped away by a wave, or maybe spend some time in a cave, I've been a pawn and a knave.
Beat me down with a stave, and place me on stage and then go flip the page, and I hope the next chapter includes the plague, and I'm not too vulnerable.
But the words that I cast down on paper are cast like a spell by a mage, like he cast a mirage to sabotage the rest of the fortress; I'm restless.
These feelings I'm feeling, well I'd say they're important, at least to me, atleast I hope you can see, like I've realized that she isn't right for me.