Ventilation
I don't know why, I always find myself dying
deep inside the hole of life but trying
to be alive, at the same time
with the same rhyme I just keep writing
in this book of lies that I'm disguising
triple the score, I'll be sippin' the scorned
rippin' the torn, livin' in vivid, sick'n twisted for more
stickin' a piston incision to form
in sickness to born from weakened wit with a bored grin
to bein' this kid who's sore with the morbid
I say this Like I don't know it's mazin'
putting me ashore with the fourty for clickin'
with a clique or four ****'s
given, if I'm givin' this and stored in a more simple storage
horsin' around with the thoughts of a clown
I've been a frown, but I've turned up right corny
like a veggie but if I let the bull ram to my whole body's jet stream,
letting it take a toll, so bad like breakin' a bowl
and watchin' it shatter to the floor, slowly empty
even though when we glue the pieces close, we can sew it like needle knows, we can close what we can see
and if I don't let the fan breathe
I will never plan, we can stand here and act like what we just can't be, a ghost
but everyday walkin' like a cause and effecting everything you think
it never lowers for whenever you're ever lower than low
for sure, for show, it's a walkin' smile that we possess and yes
we let the most stress be guests just to forget
whenever the rest is said, but that's no end to a vent
of vent's to vent' let it be told, the old saying say's even to this day
we make up a saying just to say it
hopin' they can relate to its greatness
sayin' it for ages, they just might rearrange it's little phrases
Copyright © Tyler Gillespie | Year Posted 2015
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