Lyrics

do I want to smile, do I want to cry,
am I dead or am I even alive,
I lost my glasses twice…
I can’t see shit guys!

sorry, I couldn’t see the storm that sure was brewin’ inside,
but a fresh found Swiftie hit the ocean with her digi-fishies,
dig fishies,
dig, dig, dig, me a hole,
I got boards, I got nails,
I even got paint for the door,
my buddy said someone holding Sherwin Williams was who kicked down the door,
and ignited the fire of the lightning within’ a windy city’s Rain’s,
let AVA sing!
stop using my deadname!
I tell you all the time!
please address me by mommy, I’m switchin’ out the blues to a different hue,
maybe green with envy like a angry fudge packer,
a Houston Texan, with her voice of the MetaMasher,
she’s barkin, but there’s really no one to bite,
so who’s she attacking?!
herself, as her soul bleeds through the night…
and the only ones who come, when a hawk echoes a screech,
is the one who’d sing a tune at the Ren Fair in my Yellow Porsche with Peanut Butter Seats, and some Jelly Roll moods,
because I’m high as shit again and but im not fallin’ to the floor,
because i have water,
they took me to get it on a magical music bed…
it sings songs in your mind, so you can rest your head,
when you’re back home, and you’re so tired, that damn long lonely road,
tell that machine gun they call Kelly, a cavalier should come through,
I don’t like how you use the sound of your music to fire off violence,
in the name of the Holy, and act as if it’s righteous,
I think they call that Blasphemy,
and i know a thing or two about that,
because,

FA LA LA LA, LAAA LA LAAAA,
im stuck within the screen!
listening to someone sing my music,
my hair’s blowin’ in a Mississippi EF-3,
then stormin’ to Orlando, to drop off a purple Jeep, to my Team USA, flyin’ bird flippin’ cousin, she knows a few radio vixens, but if you talk about her crafts again, she’ll leave you to die in the leaves….

I apparently, don’t hear anything properly, maybe that’s why, ears aren’t attached to a puzzle piece…

maybe she’s a dragon, or a beautiful butterfly, maybe she’s the wind that whispers into the bathtub, crying, this mitten’s miffed…
I love that word…
miffed, miffed, miffed, I sing that song,
miffed, miffed, miffed, coulda heard it wrong…
miffed, miffed, miffed, over anxiety, oh I’m,
miffed, miffed, miffed, I can’t forge and rewrite the scripts, of the pain…

never should’ve scared her as that innocent little high chair kid,
you turned her into an ever caring, over sharing, they’re all staring, anxious, kinda chick,
it’s not pretty, it’s not cute, it’s got the crowd chanting “you’re a fucking prick”
running her out of her brand new to her house,
all because,
she couldn’t lift the weight of the bricks.