i\'ve been down this corridor - before you enter you have to bring back the creator of winter damn, too late i\'m spoiled, i need the napalm i got it, i shot it in my left sector, blew up the timing device on the reactor. time shifted i had to remold the floor the foundation for creation - mate\'s blend the pleasure dome into another roam - a walk stalked nightly by the ogre that\'s rarely sober. but there\'s no tracin i see the place in the flow. i\'m beyond dawn, no i\'m not in the lawn under pawns - don\'t rest, never possessed stagnate magnets. i never pulled slits lips wit no braille skilled eyes - balls through eyesockets. i\'m currently current currents of electricity; they can\'t get wit me invisible to the retina half - way reality part limbo. a nervous laugh while ya climbin through windows, never spin ho\'s on merry-go-rounds, be the ground level for ghouls, schools of fish, victims on a hit list me like geronimo on a pratt - tackle patt tacklin patterns addin in seasonings, flavor. no false teeth for beef, catapulting fingers to light switches so you can see the real, i feel the tension my sight twitches - i\'m bent.
second scene: i\'m the star in a step show around corners, the coroner\'s office; where my rep grows. i\'m on some sort of drug like the president, it\'s evident that i\'m noid, a little bit of pizza - the riddle gets deeper. i\'m lookin for outs n ins, stolen isotonas, the gloves, the bout begins three jabs on a transport it\'s a sport for me to take another life on landing, branding wit a prattle prod designed by god. it\'s my job to resign frauds, the odd is against you got a degree in me, so i know that i flow, credentials are essential - it\'s blasphemy the type of shit they be askin me. i don\'t feel the vibe, abstract art the veal doesn\'t heal this deprived stomach from a plummet. swinging on a duet with the bullet. i never pull out for suspense - i\'m on a bent mission.
jack cousteau couldn\'t take it no deeper - i\'m a resident in davey jones micro-locker holds the phone, foamin at the mouth: mad dog, a taste, never had hog i\'m droppin the scrooge, makin fools hit the log - axe it. i seen it beneath where the cowards hope trembled sleeper see if you can find the lost treasure through measures in bars - i\'m bent.
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