how many stars will you still see in your eyes
becoming not what I can stand
th monster inside is is being untied
for the worser of the two evils to live on bereft

corpus
curricula
dependents sing inside
let me know you can cry

I'm only holding you hear in my vision
I can't drive out your disguises
i need you to focus on me here in this moment
I can noly see thru sometimes and when i do i need to get this thing off my mind

whatever
 its all with not
its what its not
so get the anger
pour on proof you still got love here
decibles of honest angst here
I'll live to say i never died, dear

You're not the wings I thought I'd had
you can only run with the shed skin now
defunct is the sound of this marriage
be between the mirrors I focus on

This enemy is basis for all to conceive in
the earnest may breathe and the others cannot see
the poisonous reasons they have not a lead be
I'd crossed thru the bleak just to see if they'd return belie

kick his ass if you see him for the reason
not one can pit him with the edge of distinction
I'll kick it in, nock it all, just to pin you to the thought
welcome to hell

when im coming on you gotta see the dialin if you're gonna be the one who had me
it cant be if you had to be the one who tried to have had me
im really not ready for the end of my being
and its really getting clear that i wont get any further
but phonies can talk sometimes and i wont let em feed me. this sickness is deadened
its time for the muscles to form and grow my appendages
its sickness inside and its rotted my feelings i have alwayas tried to inhale
the things i exhort it's an animosity i'm aggregious to be within when i find
it's not the edge of reason I've hit here you can walk away if you want to
we're still not deep enough to go with the eyes
you can take away the leaning it'll go with your blind
then all reason loses its clime. lik intonation i angle the mountains
and if you catch me again, ask me another one. I'll inflect of your side
you're even here i can hear you're in the morrow
so totally there for the marksman who grows prow
thus the end is night for me and I've only begun hanging the saviour on the nails
talk to rhythm and it'll bounce like a knife, it'll shed you of your skin
and it'll give you the layers you need for relief
there's nothing worse than beauty gone to waste
and nothing realer is not that you're empty, but its you that you hate.