Just once, I want to poke my negative stress in the chest,
Swing a haymaker left and not rest 'til I beat it to death
Breathe in the best breath ever once I clean up the mess
Yet whenever I step, it retreats deeper into its nest
Just once, I wish to bridge the gap between me and that dude
The man I could've been after I realized that I had to
The type of cat to have past loves asking, "Is that you?"
But that's cool, you still don't recognize when I pass, boo
I wish that I could hold feelings, 'cause feelings hold me
Together, yet broken, closely at arm's length from me
I sometimes wonder if these epiphanies will kill me
Creeping out of the deep, dark, corners of the real me
Lost moments of speech, s*****ed away by the wind
I guess it's time to look inside and find a line again
I revive my grin as I begin to spend the 5 or 10 minutes it takes to dive within and realign my Zen
Ask a poet where a song comes from, he'll tell you the soul
But the detail they fail to unveil is that the tale has been told
It's the air when it's cold, it's the parents that carried you home
It's what's scary in those areas where you won't dare me to go
In my hand I hold the soul of a poet
Hoping to throw it over the moat of Moet, and boats full of heads with no necks
Who protest against my inappropriate openness
Standing at the edge of this precipice, staring at nothingness, just
Abyss
Swing a haymaker left and not rest 'til I beat it to death
Breathe in the best breath ever once I clean up the mess
Yet whenever I step, it retreats deeper into its nest
Just once, I wish to bridge the gap between me and that dude
The man I could've been after I realized that I had to
The type of cat to have past loves asking, "Is that you?"
But that's cool, you still don't recognize when I pass, boo
I wish that I could hold feelings, 'cause feelings hold me
Together, yet broken, closely at arm's length from me
I sometimes wonder if these epiphanies will kill me
Creeping out of the deep, dark, corners of the real me
Lost moments of speech, s*****ed away by the wind
I guess it's time to look inside and find a line again
I revive my grin as I begin to spend the 5 or 10 minutes it takes to dive within and realign my Zen
Ask a poet where a song comes from, he'll tell you the soul
But the detail they fail to unveil is that the tale has been told
It's the air when it's cold, it's the parents that carried you home
It's what's scary in those areas where you won't dare me to go
In my hand I hold the soul of a poet
Hoping to throw it over the moat of Moet, and boats full of heads with no necks
Who protest against my inappropriate openness
Standing at the edge of this precipice, staring at nothingness, just
Abyss