Rain is uncovering my open mind
and my oversized lips are talking to my undersized eyes,
if only I could get through this some kind of jungle.
You want to make sure I'm six feet under and here I am
creeping up your spine; I don't give a shit about your money.
I have so many problems that my solutions are making fun of me.
At my little brown stand in the middle of the carosel
I can tell you your place in life but you'll end up asking for something different.
What can I do when I lick a drop inside of the top
of the roof of myself and it turns into a habitat for bad taste.
I plan to become the worst aspect of life,
and if you agree with a burning shrub
then you're best asset is a one way ticket out of here.
The hysteria is my favorite part of breaking down,
the night I gave myself to you is the last thing I don't regret,
and yet I find you to be less than enough.
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