| Lyrics: | 114f
I've got some letters inside of my drawer
that should have been stamped and
delivered
One is addressed to my ex
it says I'm the type of kid who can't be lived
with
One is addressed to my friends
it says I'm a mess so y'all can't visit
One is
addressed to myself
but I don't know what personality or hand to give it
I'm a God damn
misfit...mismatched, but never missed much
Mr Right-time-wrong-place with a long face until our
lips touch
I don't miss the mistrust, its what got our messages mixed up
Before I rip up
your letters let us see if I can tear you away from his clutch
This stuff's a whole other
drawer
from a different dresser I'm not ready to address
I went to the west to get my mind
off things and I'm already depressed
I give up. Get let down. Down play. Play games. Put on my
game face
Face my pharmecudial needs and feed on my medicine, but I don't like the way it
tastes
I go place to place without enough money to put a bed under me
So I share my
sleeping space with rodents, insects, and dust bunnies
I laugh at the mess I've created for
myself until it gets unfunny
But I'm content in the fact that they don't expect respect, sex,
love, or trust from me
When I'm hungry I can taste it
I hide in the basement
Check
up on me every now and then
Because my mood swings low...and I can feel myself going down
again
Falling off is easy. Getting put on takes a bit of ass kissing
I'd rather listen
to myself flop on the ground than hear the sound of a mattress spring
I rap and sing and talk
and write and often type with 2 fingers
The "hunt and kill" method
I edit one third of a
word per second
Your emails sit in my uns |
