Muziekvideo

Credits

COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Jacob Christopher Cunningham
Jacob Christopher Cunningham
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Brett Moore
Brett Moore
Producer
Zachary Tyler Koval
Zachary Tyler Koval
Recording Engineer

Songteksten

Slithering specimen withered and laid to rest and then Rudely awakened by the crude taste of his metal weapon Kid's a legendarily wretched expression of death and pestilence Meshed within the flesh of maleficence and indifference Impressive, and yet pathetic dense with rhetoric 'Bout his best efforts invested while lending just a percent of it Breath as fresh as excrement, infested Pursuing stupid dreams with no human means of collecting it Definitely a specialist method actor expressionist Purely concerned with burning his work to unearth the elements Revenant of better times spending his life regretting shit Head dive into sediment dead and call it development Arrogant, seeming apparent through leagues of evidence He's heaven sent to relish the hellish stench of irrelevance Yellow belly wrenching, he's clenching it with trembling fists And sweating at the mention of adventure potentially missed Spurting sentiments, yearn again to return to whence Birth occurred, but innocence is ignorance in a certain sense Earth is turning, we learn to forget the early tense And squirm into a firm sense of burden earning at your expense Plenty pissed in the pistons of reminiscing But this is what it is to see the mystery written I refuse to peruse scrap remains of chewed bones My happy place is the epitaph engraved on my future tombstone White bone, eyes sewn shut Slowly decomposing like thank God I'm a grown-up Left alone in my hole just To breathe a new meaning to dead asleep and having no guts 'Cause dreams seem real till you woke up And dates were great with destiny guess except till you broke up So what? The three piece fits but it's cold, yup Oh there's no place like home, I'm so stuck Now bone brown, mouth sewn shut Holding nothing spare fingernails, some hair and my own luck Shucks, the one rebuttal I'd throw up At least I dug apart the subtle art of giving no fucks So when the rowboat toll man show up I'll show him that I'm broker than hope and motion a cold shrug Sure 'nuff, no one is going to show a ghost love Oh there's no place like home, I'm so fucked
Writer(s): Jacob Cunningham Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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