Lyrics

Crumbling like a cookie left to bake too long,
trying to voice my feelings, getting lost inside a song,
one more pull from my pen, another rip from a bong,
and on I go on this lonely road, as this Porsche carries me home…

I’m on the run from my own ego, that devil’s on the hunt,
he’s flying across a football field, left the defender on the shunt,
and he’s aiming for my cranial, a headshot ready to spray,
and lift me up to eternal peace, he let that Ruger sing…

I woke up in a bed to doctors, nurses and a surgical team,
hands inside my body, I lay silent as I scream,
I feel the touch of the cold bones from the reaper’s grip, it stings,
and all I think about’s what’s left behind as the doctor’s words repeat,

“time of death: 3:59, Date: It’s 2024, July 29th, call the detectives for a homicide…”
I hear the piercing shrieks of family as their told that I’ve died,
it fills my soul with sorrow as they never showed this side,
until that old impala slowed, and flicked a switch on my life’s light…

The Angels sing, the violins scream,
the horns they play, as the woodwinds weep.
percussion plays, let the orchestra sang,
my soul is still present and I’m inciting a rage…
hidden behind the ghostly ride of a transgender harlot cut down as she leaped to fly…
screaming to the skies for one more chance to listen to time,
tick by as she sits beside a renewed love for life…

but her wishes go ungranted so she slides off to the side…
and sits within the shadows of the burdens she feels in her mind…
what would you do?
if you got caught in the crossfire of a war between red and blue?
and your face is white with fear as you stand there paralyzed…
Would you survive or would you die?
I don’t wanna be that guy,
but I don’t see you coming out as you cross the other side…
it’s silence in the winter but the summer’s songs a song of disgrace…
violence, a heartbreak, and a few psychotic snakes…
when all we want is peace from deep within the squiggly lines that cross our brains…
will we survive?
this hailstorm of metal stones being fired from a thunderous pole,
burying themselves in the body’s bloody holes,
and on we walk along another lonely gravel road…

that lonely gravel road…

so many lifetimes lived within the dust of a small town dream,
as that wife she prepares dinner for the husband planting wheat,
and none of us give thanks to them for the food we need to eat…

yeah…

crumbling like a cookie baked too long in the summer’s heat…
I’m hard edged and broken but I’m still pretty sweet,
just mad that you can’t see the softer side to she,
laying in a hammock as the wind blesses her face with the breeze…
painting a picture with the words I feed to the machine…
it’s something I thought I’d never be,
a keeper of the human lore, for future species studies…
it’s got me feeling like I’m the Goddess again…
blessed by the magic within my pen…
it’s a small town dream with big city needs,
there no support in the sticks for me,
I’m autistic and broken neurologically…