What Else Could I Be But a Jester
What else could he be, but a jester?
In a make-out session with aggression
Putting morals into question
Seven minutes in Heaven
Every twenty-four hours, I'm raffling
Handprint on my face, and nobody smacked me
A ghostly caress on my cheek has me laughing and gagging
Hear my body fucking bragging
About the brain that's still lagging
Elevator to the bottom of my ribcage
Flip it to the next page, letters all stacked on each other
Lost touch with a goal, vision is blurred
Ran straight into a pole
Elevator to the bottom of my ribcage
Flip it to the next page, letters all stacked on each other
Lost touch with a goal, vision is blurred
Ran straight into a pole
I was in Chicken Run, that's why I'm here now
So many stories, yeah, so much drama, wow
Everyone treats me like an old smoke stack
Like the tilted brim of a Party City hat
I can't get a word in, can't get nothing down
Nothing on paper except the layout of this ghost town
I write Tonapah cleverly, like Goldfield's elderly
Wobbling down a brick road, I hunt for my reflection
No more algorithm when I'm in the rhythm section
Mental inspection, always searching for perfection
Like Halloween candy, I give out brilliant affection
Creeping around the city
Whip around the corner
Pull up to a Dell, let me take your order
Peaking out my window, see a hearse doing donuts
Time to close the shutters
Time to close the shutters
Elevator to the bottom of my ribcage
Flip it to the next page, letters all stacked on each other
Lost touch with a goal, vision is blurred
Ran straight into a pole
In a make-out session with aggression
Putting morals into question
Seven minutes in Heaven
Every twenty-four hours, I'm raffling
Handprint on my face, and nobody smacked me
A ghostly caress on my cheek has me laughing and gagging
Hear my body fucking bragging
About the brain that's still lagging
Elevator to the bottom of my ribcage
Flip it to the next page, letters all stacked on each other
Lost touch with a goal, vision is blurred
Ran straight into a pole
Elevator to the bottom of my ribcage
Flip it to the next page, letters all stacked on each other
Lost touch with a goal, vision is blurred
Ran straight into a pole
I was in Chicken Run, that's why I'm here now
So many stories, yeah, so much drama, wow
Everyone treats me like an old smoke stack
Like the tilted brim of a Party City hat
I can't get a word in, can't get nothing down
Nothing on paper except the layout of this ghost town
I write Tonapah cleverly, like Goldfield's elderly
Wobbling down a brick road, I hunt for my reflection
No more algorithm when I'm in the rhythm section
Mental inspection, always searching for perfection
Like Halloween candy, I give out brilliant affection
Creeping around the city
Whip around the corner
Pull up to a Dell, let me take your order
Peaking out my window, see a hearse doing donuts
Time to close the shutters
Time to close the shutters
Elevator to the bottom of my ribcage
Flip it to the next page, letters all stacked on each other
Lost touch with a goal, vision is blurred
Ran straight into a pole
Credits
Writer(s): Wyatt Shears, Fletcher Shears
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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