shoot frank

Lyrics

one last vein to poke made it too dark to see this, scenery slips then line up to go in the ground and leave us, so repeat this till i'm sick and i won't feed this, to my little girl who kept me in this world to beat this, as a little kid taught to follow jesus, get to the front of the line i'm bein' lead by elitists, so when i speak words that i don't mean, it's like i'm only in a cloud to wonder what serene is, unable to wake and delete the reasons, or be the same bed i made up to sleep with demons, whether sick sane of a pattern repeated, if i spit pain i knew how to relieve it, if at sixteen i had started to treat it, till my shit changed whether or not i would need it, to trace back to the face before the fetus, if the departure was wrong from the gate then she is, trigger finger itch, the son of a snitch, i'm the rat's favorite son, last to pal and cut, slit to bleed the rust, by the last heart i've won, we roll under covers waiting, i've tied off a limb debating, if all of the names forsaken, spell out what i'm takin', watching the skin pop, i would do anything to, tell you what i've been late to, fix up my head and escape to, where i can rest my eyes, the sun says wake up with a beam in my eyes, clutchin' the bed like she's still by my side part of me died, even when i prescribed still just to be ostracized, 'cuz she don't really know if she wants to ride or drive, while no nooses long enough to hang my excuses, whether i'm dead, gun to my head, or reclusive, the end is close almost no need for money, yet when i wished for death nobody took my life from me, if i cannot see what's right in front of me, and the lights on there still wouldn't be enough to leave, i fixed me when i broke the aggression, but i'm still attracted to my beautiful depression, if i felt emotions i learned to suppress 'em, till i'm ready to sleep i'll have found a place to rest then, no thanks to angst i learned my lesson, and can erase the face that can't answer the questions, trigger finger itch the son of a snitch, i'm the rat's favorite son, and by the time i'm back, that heart that beats so black, let it shine like his gun, we roll under covers waiting, i've tied off a limb debating, if all of the names forsaken, spell out what i'm taking, watching the skin pop