Shithead Prose

All the saint's in the cellars hiding beneath the art they made

Who's to say a miracle can be measured visually

I'm over my indifference cause it doesn't fit

Art is hell and i'm not the poster boy for it

Who's to blame, i guess it's me

Felt like shit when i got the call

Who's to blame, i guess it's me

Ruth, i'm sorry, i gave up because i was weak

You taught me better, that will endure

All the things you lived for through me

Fold me out on the bed i made

I disrespected myself and from where i came

Double stitched my problems to every spot i lay my head

Till there was no room left for me in my bed

Hiding out or hiding in

Losing time or cutting risks

Spacing out or disconnecting or spitting shithead prose in the wind?

Ruth, i'm sorry, i gave up because i was weak

You taught me better, that will endure

All the things you lived for through me

Shithead prose for a human dynamo

How can something so ugly give the world some thing beautiful

I pass my time with the simple wonders of day to day

I'm not sure there is another way

But i do try when i think of who's given me

The opportunities i passed on to find myself

And where am i after years of searching

Still 12 years old at 24

I'm still 12 years old at 24

I'm still 12 years old at 24