(Christians in clothespins great prophets break stride down here dear captain your past tense in my pretense)
the beats the sounds the remix the fine lines things in my head oh the things in my head
(blues for the martyrs for now but can you hear dissolving like I do one foot in the jet stream all my arms around the roads that lead me nowhere to I don't know where while deprogramming presumption)
the part of my brain I've been trying to kill leaves me spitting out teeth

Your memory is like sand and no one wants a kiss from blue lips

What frequency does my mind ride on so ride on right on why does the static go on and on and on... it's your stiff-jointed routine and it's your concaved life of they murdered you.