just kick me to the corner and lock me in the pigeon hole
and i'll level up in all things sarcastic and cynical
i understand, kid, that's just how the division goes
it's okay, i can spend my time hiding in your vision holes
black spots in your spectrum
places where i'm free to play faceless
and when you return we play 'things are the same as you left 'em'
we're left pushed to the left until the next one
at least i never have to return all the way to step one to step some
you let the tongue slip, when you meant to bite it
now the drums hit, while you try to hide it
so let the bloodletting start to head off the sweats
but your numb lips presuppose the divided
shoulders are under-rated:
ah... there's that feeling that i love
the cold shoulder shove and the dead line buzz
you used to wear your heart right on your shoulder
but you put it away and let the limb embrace colder
so that seven number password no longer gets entrance
and i can't pick a lock cause i never grabbed the essence
distance grows longer, they redraw the maps
so i pour another glassful of default tap and tap
