Just because we doing shit on different coasts
Like living ghosts of the supposed I know
There’s a closeness that seven leagues and twelves months
Will fly like moths and time lost will just be a cost
Culture shocks and torture can be therapy
Whats scaring me is that I gave up on a dream
To chase the seams of the unreal city
That teams up on me when I’m missing having a baby
Driving me crazy, swatting at mosquitoes
Can you believe those demons bite through my sleeve holes
I need release though before I go lethal
Rolling dice for miracles and twice fold lyrical spirits go
Over an ocean, in another timezone
thirteen hours into a future world low on crime so
I’m having a time finding my lines, old
monkeys banging on my back with a cereal spoon
dragging me mad through a million dooms
see the last bag of cash flash past on youtube
wondering how they gonna catch the bad rap
when the rap has sapped your attitude flat
drugged and down on the sour patch
come round when they least expect that I’m like that
But I might have designed this whole experience
Accomplice in the ephemeral delirious
Tears sheared off the sheep I count sleeping
Dreaming about ant queen metamorphosis
Cortex locked on the hoard that I forfeited
Am I’m not sure of this dedication
this deranged break from medication
my patience is wearing thinner than my relations
I often stop and think “what the fuck am I doing in Asia?”
what am I crazy, spaced out and expatriated
one bank transfer away from absconding on payments
cause I’ve created a maze it may take the rest of my days left
to navigate, so can’t I just stay in one place
like the statue that she pointed me to
that my mother thought I was due
that I drew in grade two when they asked me what I wanted to do
but all I really wanted to do was be someone who drew
on the mystery, the ten-fold trip
that edge of the scenery when it’s ripped
and you see the oblivion puppet mentalist
and he’s got your fate in an ice cold grip
and you just need some warmth to sail to you on a wooden ship
so you write down every pirate tape you watched as a kid
just to relate to the ancient thing that evolved into what you is
but the list gets mixed up with every whispered birthday wish
until you don’t regret the reality of your unwritten masterpiece
rather you unwittingly slave to a little kids fantasy
hands manipulating skeletons on a canvas, see
just cause your displaced this doesn’t erase the past happening
over and over in your brain while you strain for a string
to weave a map of what the next six months will bring
in common with what you hope can be a common thing
I need to stop using the you and I need the spring…
