pulled out of the rubble Now they are both living in a soft soap bubble The film producer's contemplating, entertaining suicide The picture crumpled in his fist, his runaway
love my darkness, I make them heartless, And in return, the have become my martyrs, I've been in the poem of many a poet, And I reside in the art of many a artist
escape It never comes back quite the right way Creatin a person to save 'em you might say But enslaves me in another way, I'm like a 28-year-old runaway
They love my darkness, I make them heartless, And in return, the have become my martyrs, I've been in the poem of many a poet, And I reside in the art of many a artist
now we getting paid [J. Brass] I get so pissed, my style'll explode bladders flows shatters matter, killing enemies off, making my foes scatter faster moving like runaway