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about
This is some shit man, some real shit that's shit man, the shit that makes you cry home to mama saying...shit. But don't tell yo mums that shit, or she'll shit on you. and not that run your mouth shit. Your mom will literally fucking shit on you. Don't test it. She'll straight wrangle a fucking calico mooer out of her pooter right on your computer. But yeah, this is a quarter loosey that's fitty, not the kind you find on huntington beachwalk, and not the kind you'll have on this upcoming album, cuz this shit doesn't sound anything like it. the album that is, I've heard some vagabonds ask for a loosey that sounds like this. But fuck huntington beach, shit's rockier than fucking bullwinkle. And I ain't selling no loosies for a quarter...I only sell JFK prices.
lyrics
Where’s the corners, what's the length, where's the border, where will it take—
Me, esprit sparrow or crow of malaise, lazy thoughts betrays
upraise, abrases, effaces grace. To what degree do I proceed? Precis the scene, did I oversee or just overhear or speak in jest or in my own ear?
My own year to myself, isn’t isolation such an isolationist's dream if perfection in increments is only created per diem.
To emote is ropes, the ropes garrote me, an asymptote, the curve denotes the moats of rote’s plea.
So sleep, sleep, sleep the time away. What way do I express if to self-sequester is the peak of all progress? To speak is to reach, to beseech is weak…
but this isn't egress, it is reached apex. This isn't egress, it is reached apex.
—Me, esprit sparrow or crow of malaise, lazy thoughts betrays
upraise, abrases, effaces grace. To what degree do I proceed? Precis the scene, did I oversee or just overhear or speak in jest or in my own ear?
My own year to myself, isn’t isolation such an isolationist's dream if perfection in increments is only created per diem.
Per se, routine is clue.
credits
released August 16, 2019
Vocals/lyrics- Just Me
Beats- Epitomeofsadness
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