Themselves Follow

You will never be lucked in this world boy
So sadly picked for a thick fitting of silk
Bathed in brandy, then dried to perfection
In the six month width of Alaskan sun
So you might won, so you might win
Worlds over effortlessly, nah boy
You will be shown how to work the crank that
Turns the streets to face the rich and just reflect them
And if fools can have songs about nothing but wealth...
Damned if I'm a not sick whole sonnets on death
To ring a needle width a light out of the dark I crept
And for those who slept fuck em now I know
Exactly which whay I oughta be sending the wolves
When we meet, cause I have had my fill
Of seeing this flesh hit teeth, it's like me
Calling blood back to the front of my cuts
To do what, to wear pants to wipe blood
To cut luck, to... not walk and sleep
At the same time
I think of paper thin wounds
And mile long lines...