Have you ever got the feeling that the sky is watching you?
Like one big blue eye with eyes just for you
I know it isn’t true, but...
I like to keep a ceiling handy just in case I got some shit to do

Don’t fucking call me, I’ve got a mind to lose but
I’ve gotta find a muse, it’s not music it’s a line of clues
Leading back to the woods, down a hole in the ground
Where I kept the memories that motivated the sound
I’ve been isolated ever since they moved there
I’ve Spent a lot of time acting like I don’t care
I’ve had a lot of thoughts that I haven’t cared to share but
Now I’ve got a beat, so I’m speaking through the frigid air sayin’
I never wondered where it’s headed ‘til I’m dead
The only method is a skeptic with work ethic for bread
The rest is something that I’ll deal with as it happens
Until then, yeah, I’m still rappin’
On the dot on a map that you’ll probably never read
Where I grew like a tree from a midwest seed
The roots grew thick in the dirt as I worked
Now the wings strain single-minded, tearin’ up earth

From the days spent scattered in exhaust fumes
Lost in my thoughts of miscalculated odds
Dead and faded gods, mismatched socks and
Simulated odds, I assimilated songs while I smoked too much
And such and such, kids do anything to make a buck
That life sucks, fuck your brand new truck
I’ll try my luck in pursuit of something a little smaller
Singin’ in the snow, voice cracked and faltered
Looking not to the sky but to the ground with a lens
Until I find myself inside of something and love it I’m fine
Wide eyed open broken and fly
To the sky, see a lens? Go worship the eye
To find something to love inside yourself and
Shelve it for the self-help then sell it for the wealth
Fuck you, you’re empty, stuck here with empathy
Drunk on everything and sunk, point missed, subsisting on bunk

Now blood falls thick to the capillary network
Setback wick lit, cuttin’ through the dead murk
Tongue like lead, lookin’ like a red shirt with his
Gunpowder lung wrung dry by the death flirt
My head hurts, snake skin shed
Certified smoke spitter blurt every letter said
With intent to repent for every second spent
Never earning rent, I guess I put me here again
Staring at a blank page suckin’ on a pen plus
I been dead nine days, came back on the tenth
Took five, wrote a song, then did it all again
That’s where I’ve been, that’s who I am
This is what I do, working with my hand
My land, your land, it all came before man
This is only fleeting, the only place to stand