Текст песни Sage Francis - Personal Journalist, слова песни Sage Francis

Текст песни Sage Francis - Personal Journalist

Sage Francis - Personal Journalist слова песни

(spoken)Sage Francis...Personal Journalist, 1968 to 2001(Verse 1)He left with deep breaths in each chest that needs less innovating Causethere still debating over what rhyme skill isSick of waiting for time killers to get over there murder rapsAnd then he sold his own shirt off his back for cheap exposureSeek for closure but stayed open mindedAlways seemed to keep composure, peeking over both his eyelidsSpeaking vulgar in misleading cultures of ultra violenceTeaching others how to be more loving with brotherly guidanceA bleeding soldier knows the scienceHe does the math quick and writes without having to think twiceWithout asking for advice, letting the scalps peelHaving brains picked by head lice before the scabs healHis death mask conceals his face paintIt feels like a safe place, but it ain`tFeels like its safety seals faith, but it don`tHe`s not a real saint, just another one of those religious political jokesAnd that`s not even half of the nutshellCats are compelled to crack open and extract his blood cellsFrom, when he comes back from hell againHe`ll have a few bones to pick with a fractured skeleton(over scratching)Sage Francis...anti-socialite...secret admirerStudent loaner...continental drifter...professional day lifterSpin doctor...self-referentialist...personal journalist(bridge)Word, its the worthless wordsmithsWe`re conversing with impersonal twistsHeard the concern with making the Earth shipThese kid games are sillyWhen all art is signed anonymousHe`ll turn that big bang theory into a small pop hypothesis(spoken)Sage Francis...death merchant...1968 to 2001Devoted son, father to none(Verse 2)Husband to something soullessHe didn`t spend his life on what we loveThe hardest workers in showbiz need no diamond studded gloveHis time is up! He`s still the type of boy who makes a comebackKill the white noise til the sun`s blackMoonwalk around New York City and get murderedBy flocks of sheep who square-dance circles inside a box of beatsThe California Dream sequences end quickGot to find middle ground in little townsThat`s the Midwest tradista, for somethingFell for every trick in the bookSo we stop believing, in the long-forgotten Garden of EdenGet off the cross! Of course we need the wood to burn in Godless heavingCatch him red handed, only if his hands are bleeding(over scratching)Sage Francis...Non-profit...artificially intelligent...of our guardian angel does in life...1968 to 2001...it`s been a pleasure, it`s been a pleasureGet out my weatherface with all that sunshine (Get out my weatherface with all that sunshine)Get out my weatherface with all that sunshineGet out my weatherface...

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Sage Francis

Personal Journalist

Текст песни Sage Francis - Personal Journalist

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