Read at 4:09 AM by MATO Lyrics
[Verse 1]
Let me speak for the ambiance in the room
I see a silhouette of a tusk prancing by the wallpapers
But elephants can't move in a prompt manner?
This one can, it's quite the prancer
I'll be looking like him if my hand keeps excavating this Pringles can
This manner is only because my ex didn't plan on having a man who is an anxious fuck
Who eats to handle self pity, to handle self pity like a marble, and stop, dropping, and rolling in your palm, my palm sparkles from sour cream particles making the marble stop in its print, pondering on the thought of licking the flesh to taste saturation, and keep me updated on how many kids I'll possess
Three at best with my imagination
It's a fucking hex to force regret, and dismiss
This miss, who broke logistics when her lipsticks whispered glistening, lists of her lust for me and my alliteration cysts
Turns out that was all scheisse
Those love letters were Cottonelle because she's a little shit
I used to marvel at her fibs like the marble clenched in my fist
But I digress (no I don't)
It is a poem where I stock the indignant thoughts and prisms of when you imprisoned me with our walks at the park
My heart was making rhythms
But I was stringent on who could tune in
Only two who car pooled and whaled on me for being stuck on you, they harpooned me and clutched my hand on the dark colored carbon microphone, and to a starry moon, we recorded a song about how no bad days are bad enough to exclude
Since then, thats the only thing I include
I need gills, the way I'm surrounded in blue
The only shrill thrill that's surreal is when a light flickers on the phone, and I see your nickname
And the details, cannot be distilled, she asks me for a plug for alcohol, "that is not distilled"
Were her nerves bequeathed from Lucifer? The fucking way she treats me
Right there I should have sold my soul for a nice iced pale of ale for pity
But then again, I was taught to never sign a treaty
(No, don't do it!)
Then again, we never even had a stark kiss
I pursed my lips and she said, "Sorry Charlie, my charcoal hasn't been lit"
I must've done little to preserve a friendship, but I'm not Doolittle, I don't have patients
I mean shit, I don't mean shit
I just looked in the mirror and said, "it's nice to meet your acquaintance"
Let me speak for the ambiance in the room
I see a silhouette of a tusk prancing by the wallpapers
But elephants can't move in a prompt manner?
This one can, it's quite the prancer
I'll be looking like him if my hand keeps excavating this Pringles can
This manner is only because my ex didn't plan on having a man who is an anxious fuck
Who eats to handle self pity, to handle self pity like a marble, and stop, dropping, and rolling in your palm, my palm sparkles from sour cream particles making the marble stop in its print, pondering on the thought of licking the flesh to taste saturation, and keep me updated on how many kids I'll possess
Three at best with my imagination
It's a fucking hex to force regret, and dismiss
This miss, who broke logistics when her lipsticks whispered glistening, lists of her lust for me and my alliteration cysts
Turns out that was all scheisse
Those love letters were Cottonelle because she's a little shit
I used to marvel at her fibs like the marble clenched in my fist
But I digress (no I don't)
It is a poem where I stock the indignant thoughts and prisms of when you imprisoned me with our walks at the park
My heart was making rhythms
But I was stringent on who could tune in
Only two who car pooled and whaled on me for being stuck on you, they harpooned me and clutched my hand on the dark colored carbon microphone, and to a starry moon, we recorded a song about how no bad days are bad enough to exclude
Since then, thats the only thing I include
I need gills, the way I'm surrounded in blue
The only shrill thrill that's surreal is when a light flickers on the phone, and I see your nickname
And the details, cannot be distilled, she asks me for a plug for alcohol, "that is not distilled"
Were her nerves bequeathed from Lucifer? The fucking way she treats me
Right there I should have sold my soul for a nice iced pale of ale for pity
But then again, I was taught to never sign a treaty
(No, don't do it!)
Then again, we never even had a stark kiss
I pursed my lips and she said, "Sorry Charlie, my charcoal hasn't been lit"
I must've done little to preserve a friendship, but I'm not Doolittle, I don't have patients
I mean shit, I don't mean shit
I just looked in the mirror and said, "it's nice to meet your acquaintance"