Like cigarettes light ribbons
In the red light district
Where they intersect like rhythms
You look at life through a prism
Willing to split the difference,
If only for the right schism
Elegance takes percision
Catch flies with simple syrup,
Sacrifice pure vision
Truth is a nervous system
Balanced on the precipice
Of perfect wisdom
Whoís gonna marry me now?
Or carry me out?
Or stare me down?
Downstairs, the fairís letting out
The affairís getting out
Who cares? Itís just sound
Like innocence? Try prison.
Like you wonít take deliverance,
Whatever hole you find it in.
Violence is a given
From the other side of the fence,
Itís just like television
Iíll admit thereís been some dereliction.
Iíll seek forgiveness, you get the permissions.
Lifeís a bit like a burn victim: we see it's
Harsh reality, and yet we prefer fiction.
Like, this is nice.
But is it worth it?
Does it justify it's price?
Does it serve it's worthless purpose?
Will you heed your own advice?
If you want to make it work
Itís best to check everything twice
In lieu of two new sets of eyes,
Incentivize some passersby...
She feels no strings inside her stomach
But that doesnít mean they're not there
Much less never were
And the audiences love it
Their expectations plummet
I bring to mind the things sheís signed but
Sheís long since memorized her lines
And sheís terrified in public
Objectified by her subjects
ďWhoís gonna marry me now?
Where are we now? Youíre wearing me out.Ē
If you want Ďem to care ten years from now,
Then hereís how. Shout:
These things are nice, but it ainít worth it
I been wasted half my life.
I been trained to thing I deserve it.
Iíve been dumb and deaf and blind.
This ainít right.
I ainít perfect. I ainít trying to say...
Things are nice.
But it ainít worth it.
It ainít worth it.