Backward

(talking) My name is David McCleary Sheldon I was born and raised in Kansas City, Missouri Start it right here I don't want it to be over Say it right here I don't want it to be over (repeats in background) You got a beautiful face Sittin' on the roof of the factory high There's a blood orange moon in the strawberry sky To come home soon is the wishing wonder But I'm calmed by the boom of the distant thunder Relax, there's no television static Just the howl's and never ending traffic This world is plastic and fake And I was born a few generations late Illustrate my face feel this spunky Yeah I'm strange as hell but I'm real as fuck So follow my smell to the hollows and dells And I'll show you the snake's as they swallow their tails They're right there running the assembly lines Where the coal gets shoveled by the carton smokers They're parasites burrowed in the listeners minds Nevermind, scratch that, let me start this over Man, how far does this pigeon hole travel Find the answer in the indigo shadows Though you can unless you know the chant Or the eight away labor line soldier ant I held my mom as she died in my hands Had to cancel the tour I hope you guys understand That the life of a man's gonna crack In the eyes of his fans When he fails to supply the demand Now if only I could catch my breath I got spurs on my boots, I can etch my steps So I can find my way home when I stretch my depth But I gotta get a disclaimer off my chest When I talk about social ills Or the alcohol fix or the potent pills Understand that I wrote it with a soul to fill I had to sketch myself a new home to build I was baited and caught by decoys of free will Wounded inside, I rejoiced in cheap thrills My life was destroyed and rebuilt Listen to the dangerous sweet noise and keep still Introverted, borderline sick, disconcerted Kinda slick when its quickly worded Every tick every twist every drips assertive With the verse every pixel is picture perfect When at first! that's how I stitched the ferber With the scraps and the bits of the sensory murder And they're the antitheses as I'm rippin with the type of terrificness The benefits of rhyming certificates kids are intimate I'm spitting so the minute on the rhythm and I'm gettin so inventive That there's really no equivalent I'll rip a show, and pigeon hole, an invalid Until they gotta tippy toe to get a dose of lithium So tell the other kids to smell the blood I spit Just to let them know what they hell they fuckin' with I've felt pain and I'll feel it again Take 'em back to the end start again I got mental cravings for sinful tastings And gentle phrasings with pencil shavings I felt pain and I'll feel it again Take 'em back to the end start again Away Start it right here I don't want it to be over Say it right here I don't want it to be over (repeats in background) You got, you got a, you got a beautiful face (repeats until song finishes)