| I drink the clouded city rain water, you could never save my soul,
|
| A pane of glass in my stomach and I don’t break it for no one,
|
| Go — The blood runs like a river when your back’s turned,
|
| And hope don’t float when it’s choking on its last words,
|
| Word — which one would you use to describe this,
|
| I’m sick of fighting everybody around me for silence,
|
| Sick of trying to get by inside of your silly blinded,
|
| Vision of what you thought life was before you dived in,
|
| Take a look at me, I’m pickin' through my last meal,
|
| Headin' to the gallows with a smile on my cracked grill, and,
|
| That’s real — you can keep your little rap deals,
|
| 'Cause I don’t give a damn about being king of the crap hill,
|
| Stop — and let it fall where the chips land,
|
| And take the earth from underneath your fragile pride and kickstand,
|
| So, when it all clears and the rain clouds fade,
|
| You can sleep with the rest of the skeletons in the grave.
|
| This city.
|
| Yeah, it’s really got a hold on you.
|
| This city.
|
| It’s really got a hold on you.
|
| (Chorus)
|
| You don’t need to fight me off, I’m well on my way,
|
| But I leave these cobblestones and matchsticks in the back of my brain,
|
| I learned that you don’t have a single word left that you can say,
|
| That’ll make me quiver when you wave it like a knife in my face,
|
| Your king is dead.
|
| You can change these bricks all day,
|
| But not a single one will ever get you out of here and take you away,
|
| You want a throne that can never be claimed,
|
| But stand there looking like another drone that lost his way,
|
| So take the broken crown off,
|
| Bowin' in the kingdom full of fool’s gold,
|
| Searching for a diamond in a pile full of bruised hopes,
|
| You’re looking at me through those tiny, little two holes,
|
| That lie to you and force you to be blinded when the truth shows,
|
| Yeah, I guess I’m nothing but a blood drop,
|
| That fell out of your last plaque-listed number one spot,
|
| Coagulate me, I’m ready to be released and,
|
| Out of your palms like a burgundy-patted breeze,
|
| How poetic, you all want change but won’t let it,
|
| Get a breath of any answer you decided it was ready to breathe,
|
| Believe me, that’s the nature of the beast,
|
| Break its little legs and then watch it try to flee,
|
| Watch it hobble out your awful line of reach,
|
| Turn around and pull the cotton out its mouth and pour its heart into the
|
| streets,
|
| And when all of this is over, you can sharpen up your teeth,
|
| Just to smile in the mirror while the rest of you depletes.
|
| This city.
|
| It’s really got a hold on you.
|
| This city.
|
| Yeah, it really ate a hole through you.
|
| (Chorus)(2X)
|
| You don’t need to fight me off, I’m well on my way,
|
| But leave these cobblestones and matchsticks in the back of my brain,
|
| I learned that you don’t have a single word left that you can say,
|
| That’ll make me quiver when you wave it like a knife in my face,
|
| Your king is dead. |