Constipated Journalist

It's shit. It's shit
Hard as a pebble. sharp as glass
Dry and impacted, tear yourself apart
Push, push, push
Stretch that asshole

Nothing is flowing very regular
Backed up, pent up, bottled up like rot gut
When the words come they're impenetrable
Nuggets of nothing, vapid and vain

Once it was a breeze of rhyme and meter
Mad, wild prose at the tip of my fingers
Fluid language. Liquid words

Thoughts like flowers sprouting from your forehead
Bad dreams made real congeal like a blood spill
Euphoria and madness are close friends

Oh well, nothing comes out right in the end
It's shit. It's shit
Hard as a pebble, sharp as glass
All's well
It all comes out right in the end



Credits
Writer(s): Rob Errera
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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