universal La industria musical esta muerta Amen Intenta betarme macbrian tal vez te denuncie a hacienda La industria musical esta muerta Seudo mafiosos La industria musical
love with the music biz, it gives me such a thrill Shopping my tape, the look on your face as I let out a trill I'm in love with the music biz, hey sparrow
fuckin' music industry Sick of all this monotony Kill the fuckin' music industry Kill the fuckin' music industry Kill the fuckin' music industry Kill the fuckin' music industry Kill the fuckin' music industry
Mitch harris Blunt / on the cutting / edge This is a stylistic disaster Or so I'm told Won't meet your estimations Do well to fold Can't keep up To the
Everything fits nicely into place Higher powers take the lead Middleman sits pondering his worth One great scheme to stem the objective urge Decision
Battered frantic, dressed in tragedy Reach the point where time caught up, why me? Paths we chose, the sorrows we cause It's all forgotten instantly as
Cloacks of sickness keeping us sweet Delusional blackness, fictional madness Visionary backlash, traps are set Revolting mind doors conspiring our downfall
Such a smug parasite Snug in the comfort zone We stepped back and watched While you violated Our effects, our spirits, our souls Opportunist scum Think
Serve my head on a plate Pulp my heart with ill will I did trust you Let to lust you, to be duped Thanks for fucking nothing Serve my head on a plate
The rats on this earth Have nothing on you An insect to those which Crawl the sewers Devourer Plunderer Deceptor Sniff out a scheme and leave The scraps
Mold and mice and stolen bikes and a van everybody wants to break into. Dirty halls and holey walls. And a door I'm afraid I can't buzz you in through
I'm bad at making mistakes though I still make a lot of mistakes. But I internalize the problem five times over Until I can't seem to speak. No goodbyes
Cold face, cold legs. Walk three blocks and pay two bucks. One bold sign: Interference on the line, waiting twenty minutes time every time. Transfer
All of my work was done I turned the TV on and I forgot that I can turn it off. We live up on the top. They leave the door unlocked. So just come in.
They won't go away. I don't think I've seem 'em blink at all. They all know my name and they're waiting for me to fall on my face as I attempt to have
Apartment at dusk: a grey Brooklyn sky, a train that I?m missing. A cheap travel mug that leaks from the side, damp coat and mittens. If you don?t find
There?s nothing less cool than feeling exhausted from hours of not doing a damn thing at all. Not thrilling to chill, steal bandwidth and cable, give
