| Higher temperatures, I am meant for this
|
| Riding on an icicle in a December mist
|
| I’m feeling blessed with bliss, I’ve got my pencil gripped
|
| Tryna write about what’s left of this
|
| Cause what’s right is wrong, so what’s left is best
|
| When only your heartbeat and breath is left
|
| There ain’t nothing clearer than cleanliness
|
| That’s why the doctors say «clear» when they press your chest
|
| Cleanse your sins, cleanse your sense
|
| Forget a press ticket, whose event is this?
|
| And I am not on the list for the guests
|
| But I guess you could be my guest if I guessed the list
|
| 24 missed calls, 9 messages
|
| How’d I wake up next to this?
|
| Are you tryna string me along?
|
| And if so, what’s the length of it?
|
| How long is a piece of string?
|
| I can smell burning
|
| How long was the pizza in?
|
| But I don’t give a-, censorship
|
| Shit, I’m in the next abyss
|
| Filled up to the brim with emptiness
|
| And that’s the strength of it, and so I guess this is
|
| This is it (This is it, my nigga, this is it)
|
| My eyes are open now (This is it, my nigga, yeah, this is it)
|
| This is it, yeah
|
| They can’t hold us down, it’s over now
|
| Where the fuck did I put it?
|
| When the fuck did I last have it?
|
| Fuck’s sake
|
| Alone, on my own, just zoning
|
| Don’t know where my phone is, home is where the heart is
|
| Fuck it, then I’m homeless, heartless bastard
|
| Fuck it, I don’t know if my daddy noticed
|
| That his son is fully grown yet, fuck it, I should phone him
|
| I ain’t got his number, all I’ve got is Mum’s one
|
| All I need is that and a toilet with a plunger
|
| To get rid of this shit, knowing I’ll regret it
|
| If I mess it with my chick, still I’m messing with this bit
|
| Who’s a seven at best, maybe seven and a bit
|
| On a good day, but this is a bad day
|
| I’m using a beer bottle as a flipping ashtray
|
| Convincing myself I’m winning in this rat race
|
| And that mirror’s just a picture of a sad face
|
| Listen to my damn pain, feeling smaller than the pin’s point
|
| André feeling Outkast in a room full of 3000 Big Bois
|
| Feeling like a skinny kid, wishing that I did 'roids
|
| Feeling like a wasteman, wishing I was employed
|
| Like I’m on my deathbed, wishing that I enjoyed life
|
| While I coulda done, shoulda woulda done
|
| Listen to the bass, listen to the drums
|
| Have you ever had a dream
|
| That you were being chased but couldn’t run? |