Writing with some vague intent

Like pulling hair out of cement

Straining through the day's lament

What do I need to say?

Why do I have to say it?

Parables and prophecies

Odes and tomes and poetry

Another jaded century

What do I need to say?

Why do I have to say it?

2100 BC on a piece of fucking stone

Flash to 21st century and I'm so fucking stoned

There is lore about the shores of the dead sea scrolls

Fragmented texts but I'm so fragmented I just keep scrolling

Rolling off of the tip of my tongue

Pretentious pedantry timed to the beat of the drum, bup-pup-pup

Write from experience, honour whats inside

But my memory's erratic so a lot is falsified

Fossilized but still alive, so many voices from the past

Words that echo of the present aren't meant to outlast

No longevity in words especially when they are facts

They merely serve the fickle fiction for this soft white track

Epitaph- for the last – tortured writer on the planet

Here lies Young Werther who died drowsily on Xanax

Overdose on thinking, yeah, a casualty of art

Fountain of Bellagio beating in my heart

Imagine that there's no final act

Just adaptations of perpetual mass

How climactic could it possibly be

A thousand plateaus that we cannot see

For every instance there is a blind

That permeates into one of a kind

Splinter-splinter, time is not intact

And the world is independent of all facts

Why can't I say what's on my mind?

Why are the words so hard to find?

I have no mouth and I must scream

Tower of Babel in my dreams

Why can't I say what's on my mind?

Why are the words so hard to find?

I have no mouth and I must scream

Tower of Babel in my dreams

Writing with some vague intent

Like pulling hair out of cement

Straining through the day's lament

What do I need to say?

Why do I have to say it?