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Latin For Truth
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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
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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
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