Burroughs ft. Humeberto.eme Lyrics

South Bay, on a Sunday/

With my head splayed, wide open/

When I go dark, I won't take you with me/

When I go dark, I won't take you with me/

Been a dead bulb always/

With a little bit of flicker in my off days/

When I go light, I won't need you with me/

When I go light, I won't need you with me/

The Sanhedrin, standing in a line/

They had Jesus, for witchcraft and crimes/

Ask Pontius for his reason to the rhyme/

Seething with unease when he speaks of Eden Prime/

He's leaving, couldn't he be decent in time?/

To at least leech freedom out of bleeding out his eyes/

Screaming, trying to believe in what he's supposed to/

Another near disaster coming close to/

A person who could knock the needle off it's track/

Setbacks in what we think we're supposed to have/

I'll hang a million dollar bill over every fucking flame/

Knowing that it isn't mine, knowing that it came from pain/

We hold ourselves to blame when the tide comes in/

Not knowing that the time is thin/

Every lie I'm in, that shit is substantial/

Reap, sow, reap, sow, you could have a handful/

I wish for better days, through the malaise and all the hassle/

Get me off my face, from the carpet or the gravel/

Stay straight laced with the lady and the apple/

William Tell, bad aim, worse example/

Falling yet again, the sidewalk relents/

A squeezed Valencia, paints the cement/

The Fisher King, dipping hearts in porcelain mugs/

The jig is up, spit it out and give it up/

Pin a crux to my vest like it's Sunday best/

And appeal to the judge so my trial ends/

Post haste, a ghost waits for no man/

A dalliance with the devil in a cloaked dance/

Low stakes from Slauson down to Rosecrans/

Eat crow when I know it's time to go man/

Automatic lights bleached my hair like the sun/

Drained of my tungsten, seemingly for fun/

Sometimes my eyes are wider than my appetite/

A glutton of the flesh playing chicken with the afterlife/

An understated mess giving bad advice/

Like, there ain't no sin, there ain't no virtue/

We only find both, depending on world view/

Everything's objective, until it happens to you/

Your own fucking blood, tries to sully your name/

Holding out his palm like "This is the Conspirator Chain"/

And then you're filled to the brim, like you hate what you know/

Like you wish that you were ignorant, you wish you were home/

And you wish that your wishes were stitched into bone/

So no one ever leaves, no one ever needs stones/

To signify who they were when they were/