Do you have a way out? I’ve been searching for one forever/
It’s a pretty day out? Well shit, I’ve seen better/
I think it’s time to saw some logs/
I think it’s time to saw some logs/
Do you have a new head? This one’s getting mighty old/
Am I making any sense or just banging at bones?/
I think it’s time to saw some logs/
I think it’s time to saw some logs/
Who want what with the sickly god?/
Fickle and odd, a little bit of prick when he prods/
Stick em up if you can’t get him to flock/
To any wolf in sheep’s clothing roaming free in the lot/
Slip back, pack another bowl up/
Click, clack, give me what you owe bruh/
King Cobra in the back of the motorcade/
Bitches Brew, Side Four, Track Two, the holy place/
And yeah I only let certain people in here/
The miscreant in me like “Ain’t nobody ever been here”/
Analogue sadness in these digital days/
I dare you to continue to stay away/
Singing hallelujah on my lonesome/
Ten toes to the sky, laying in the doldrums/
Gotta problem I’ll solve it, any night stand solvent/
I’ve been working towards rest, I want all of it/
Screaming from a pulpit/
Yet incommunicado/
I’ve got a ribbon of lilting z’s to follow/
That’s why I rock the pallid mask/
Hunting angels since we’re born, never made it out of class/
Try to fake it so I’ll last, as a testament that/
We all believe that what we’re fleeing is the reason we’re cracked/
Hot yolk on the sidewalk/
Stretch face, side talk, page took, rhyme bought/
Climate took the painstaking time slot/
He ebbs and he flows when he knows it’s a psy-op/
Believes in the peak, and his reach is repugnant/
Breathing in deep and releasing the substance/
Eagerly speaks with his cheek and his tongue bit/
Breaching to sleep where he can dream up something/
There’s blood on the floor, blood on the steps/
Blood on my hands, Calliope I’m a mess/
Somebody probably wants me dead/
And every time I hear a siren I think someone’s planning ahead/
Oh such hands, to hold and shake/
Ring kisses in the fold, so we know our fate/
Sing sitting on a stone with a subtle grace/
That makes hangmen out of hangers and lace/
And take, take what you will but the will still bends/
The frills and all your friends, and the lamentations/
Take everything I see with my varicose lens/
And pray to Som that I will find 40 winks, even with the bends/
Who the fuck is on the mend?/
Oh bearer of an awful end/
Disappear to the den/
Mariposa’s where I lay my head…/
What the fuck is on the mend?/
Oh bearer of an awful end/
Disappear to the den/
Mariposa’s where I lay my head…/
The incense outside of my crib smelled unusual/
A beckoning of either, a wedding or a funeral/
I think it’s time to saw some logs/
I think it’s time to saw some logs/
When Shadow Figures find you, there’s no telling what they’ll do to you/
Eyes peeled open, like they’re bergamot and yuzu/
I think it’s time to saw some logs/
I think it’s time to saw some logs/
Belly up, levitating, anchors plunged/
Hanging from high, so they know that I’m the favorite one/
This age is done, the plague has won, I’m sane enough/
To brick the fuck out and be aimless dun/
Watch the master unfold/
And disappear into a glaringly elaborate hoax/
I’ll take a million z’s and fill my cup up with soma/
Sit on my throne as King Coma/
