I wasn’t thinking about you, all my layers are peeled
So what cha doing here, or were you tucked away back there
Stuck like a headstone on the wrong grave, spoiled pear
See I’ve worked by the circle, for the cone, in the square
As the microwaves singed my back-of-neck hairs
I’ve worn ****** on my tongue, heart and sleeves
I’ve known moral decadence and faithless deeds
But when my number’s up will I seek rest
Or stick around to see what’s next
Cause every time I think of something good
Genie instead sends Mr. reaper in his hood
And flesh only loves the latest grain of scandal
Gloating over others’ skin of shame with wickless candles
If we can’t enjoy what’s given, why give the gifts at all
And how is there a Jesus if everybody falls
The wizened saints and wizards stumble stealthily in the sunset
Law of attraction, more like Russian roulette