[Chorus] x2
Keep rolling up my sleeves past my elbow
Roll up my heart in the folds, still felt though
Just my forearms and morons. How can I go on
I'm asking for more nights and more dawns
[Verse 1]
I am Jack's cold sweat running down his arms
Past the bracelets and the charms and the scarred harm
When I feel the shittiest is when I try to be the wittiest
The prettiest girls are the one I'm trying to get intimate
Impress them with the psyche and mic, B
Writing poems and stories just so they might like me
But I figured what's more important is that I like me
So I'm tooting my horn like Beep beep near all the wily
Coyotes howling at the moon sitting locked in my room
Freed soon when hammers hit anvils: boom
Blacksmith make me some armor, grant me honor
Anything in this fucking life just to make me stronger
Excuse the language, but this is real and uncut
I'm asking why and who when they focus on the what
And the how and I'm stuck in the now
Wondering how am I supposed to make life perfect when I can't get my rhymes down?
[Chorus] x2
Keep rolling up my sleeves past my elbow
Roll up my heart in the folds, still felt though
Just my forearms and morons. How can I go on
I'm asking for more nights and more dawns
[Verse 2]
This is me not giving a fuck: rolling up my sleeves
After all of this I'm going to get me some sleep
All the girls in my life causing me the strife and the light
When I imagined you would be wife and I'd be the night
1.) We are just too good for each other
2.) I'm looking at the stars and still stuck in your gutters
3.) When you sing, I fall in love with you
4.) There's so many metaphors that hold true
5.) I wish we could still talk like the old days
6.) I'm sick but you cured my old ways
7.) You knock me out with your orange scarf
8.) Who knew you would make things this hard?
9.) Goddamn it. All sorts of wonderful
10.) What did the hunter stole?
11.) Give me directions to your heart
12.) Show me yours and I'll show you my scars
13.) I still roll up my sleeves
13.) Do you still believe?
13.) Know that I still bleed
13.) Keep your head up. Love me.
[Chorus] x2
Keep rolling up my sleeves past my elbow
Roll up my heart in the folds, still felt though
Just my forearms and morons. How can I go on
I'm asking for more nights and more dawns
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Sweet Home
[Verse 1]
I'm from that city of green trees and cold breeze
Where the skies leave water droplets that don't freeze
We breathe coffee and try to rock clothes all jaunty
Mixed with the vagabonds of bad luck put on me
So calmly, I walk these different roads and streets
Putting my headphones in like kicks against the beats
Two tires, two feet, against the concrete complex
In context, we never what know we will conjure next
But I trust that where I'm from, the blood never spills
The ink does from the quill and we giveaway our will
From my home town we hone down and joke around
No more smoke rounds or bull nouns, we just cool down
And heat up when called for. We're tempered in our ways
From Sundays to Sunday we find salvation when we play
They tell me home is where the heart is, so when I start this
Just know that my house is inside my own body where my art lives
[Verse 2]
Voices calling me in rapid speed telling me what I need
Versus what I want. It's all the same when I read
The words they give me, please, just let me be
I never thought I'd end up like this in the end, who is he?
He is the kid with fingers like highways
From the city where every day is Friday
Rocking snapbacks like backward snaps
Just out of syntax or the synapse coupled with bad facts
Rain soaked everything, even to his bones
Too many seats in his heart to be left alone
Shattered and broken but still holistic
Speaking sad hymns with confidence prolific
Writing suicide notes that sound terrific
Hailing from the pacific and gets too specific
Look into his eyes, he's looking real tired
But when he smiles the mood gets higher
Label him a liar, label him a monster
Label him anything, as long as its proper
Call him what he is, call him what he isn't
Whatever you call him, it never is that distant
Think of the names, think of the slurs
Repeat everything he's said to himself for sure
You can't hurt him not because he's bulletproof
But because he already knows where he's from, he holds his truth
He holds his breath, he holds your hand
He holds a conversation, please understand
The home is where your heart is
Home is my own body, wherever it lives.
I'm from that city of green trees and cold breeze
Where the skies leave water droplets that don't freeze
We breathe coffee and try to rock clothes all jaunty
Mixed with the vagabonds of bad luck put on me
So calmly, I walk these different roads and streets
Putting my headphones in like kicks against the beats
Two tires, two feet, against the concrete complex
In context, we never what know we will conjure next
But I trust that where I'm from, the blood never spills
The ink does from the quill and we giveaway our will
From my home town we hone down and joke around
No more smoke rounds or bull nouns, we just cool down
And heat up when called for. We're tempered in our ways
From Sundays to Sunday we find salvation when we play
They tell me home is where the heart is, so when I start this
Just know that my house is inside my own body where my art lives
[Verse 2]
Voices calling me in rapid speed telling me what I need
Versus what I want. It's all the same when I read
The words they give me, please, just let me be
I never thought I'd end up like this in the end, who is he?
He is the kid with fingers like highways
From the city where every day is Friday
Rocking snapbacks like backward snaps
Just out of syntax or the synapse coupled with bad facts
Rain soaked everything, even to his bones
Too many seats in his heart to be left alone
Shattered and broken but still holistic
Speaking sad hymns with confidence prolific
Writing suicide notes that sound terrific
Hailing from the pacific and gets too specific
Look into his eyes, he's looking real tired
But when he smiles the mood gets higher
Label him a liar, label him a monster
Label him anything, as long as its proper
Call him what he is, call him what he isn't
Whatever you call him, it never is that distant
Think of the names, think of the slurs
Repeat everything he's said to himself for sure
You can't hurt him not because he's bulletproof
But because he already knows where he's from, he holds his truth
He holds his breath, he holds your hand
He holds a conversation, please understand
The home is where your heart is
Home is my own body, wherever it lives.
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