pseudoubt - sad sad story cliché كلمات الأغنية
[verse 1: artifex]
never write a song in the key of my alarm
never have a charm
carving a shape for the greater good
wait, take two
paying dues in the moment
must stay true ’til its broken
i’ve choked on worse
better know by last name first
better yet by a path un-searched
yes that hurts but its worth it
a reflection, sedimented
and left uncertain
the current drives
we lose lives to fit it
an eye for an eye leaves the whole world sitting in their civic duty chairs
do we truly care for the battle of the wits
or what is fitting best in the long run
betting on the lesser of the evils
these metaphors leave holes to be equal
i look to the steeple as it topples to the ground
where is your god now
where is your god now
[hook]
and beneath floor boards
we cry out for more to no answer
a torn necromancer left mourning
the epitome of lonesome
wait until you grow some and then begin to t–ter on the fulcrum
and beneath hard sh-lls
we cry out for help to no avail
like a torn sail billows and convulses
sensing every beat
every pulse
as we count sheep just to make the bleating less indulgent
[verse 2: artifex]
better shape up son
learn to tie your laces
trying hard to wake because i’m dreaming of a place i’ve never seen before
please ignore the stream of consciousness
find a fitting monolith
slip into a deeper sleep
buried down too deep to be returning unscathed
i’ve entered in the maze past the point of empty promises
time allotted next nothing
pray to make it into something
more than i can bare
more than i could care to ill-strate
still the same fairy tale
hammer nail pounded to the soil
it’s a royal marathon upon a very wary trail
retrace my steps
to the place i left so many years ago
fear that i surp-ssed the marker
harken back to ignorance
contained inside a picket fence
only lacking hard defense
escalate
maybe at later point in life
with a knack for thinking twice
i’ll have executed fantasies
without only imagining
[bridge]
and beneath floor boards
we cry out for more
we cry out for more
and we cry out
and beneath hard sh-lls
we cry out for help
we cry out for help
and we cry out
and beneath floor boards
we cry out for more
we cry out for more
and we cry out
and beneath hard sh-lls
we cry out for help
we cry out for help
and we cry out
[hook]
and beneath floor boards
we cry out for more to no answer
a torn necromancer left mourning
the epitome of lonesome
wait until you grow some and then begin to t–ter on the fulcrum
and beneath hard sh-lls
we cry out for help to no avail
like a torn sail billows and convulses
sensing every beat
every pulse
as we count sheep just to make the bleating less indulgent
it’s a sad sad story cliché…
sad sad story cliché…
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