I've been lonelier than this but the time is moving slow,
like the blood inside my fists contained in clotted lava flow.
I'd like your hands to hold my wrists, but got your tendency to go,
and that's the thought I can't submiss, so now the gaskets gotta blow.
When the pressure hits the peak I bet my eyes begin to glow,
and in the wake of your deceit I'll let my monsters start to show.
And if you ever ask to meet em, you'll encourage them to grow
cause they bed from whats within but on the skin you'd never know.
So we could all be in the sky looking at the earth below:
blackened feathers in my fists contained in clotted lava flow.
We could all be in the sky with our tendency to go,
but even if we all were birds you'd be the dove, and I'd be the crow.
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