I get hit in the face with a minute of grace;
and thus inspires me to leap into infinite space.
We the fearless, proceed to nearness:
outcasts, Pythagoreans, indeed, the weird kids.

I get hit in the face with a minute of grace,
and thus inspires me to leap into infinite space.
Brand just societies with liquid disdain;
a man clutching apriori, omnipotent aims.
I ask what is in us that seeks the truth?
Is it the speaking booze or do I need recouped?
...I'm the floor blesser who rocks defiance,
the court jester in the yard is dropping science.
And the king's laughing at this;
but it will not be funny the assassins are slashing his writs,
after he sips from the chalice I grab,
and take his little spot in the palace he had.
I wrote this song to slay the deadly singular;
and along the way you may find everything you love;
and everything you hate but I'm too fly to censor.
Then I remember why I was sent here.

chorus 2x

I get depressed when I look at the human population,
but I shouldn't; it's a very useful oxidation.
In suits the crops they're making the props of Satan,
and in language we don't touch it, the talks are basic.
I could never live a moment again, where I'm holding a pen,
and the updraft of coldness descends;
to the tone of the end and my opus is sent;
and all the mortal's vulnerable bones would've bent.
This is for the days of the drought, stuck in a room;
going crazy with doubt and I'm fucking consumed;
in the ages renowned that had existed before, but;
on the page I get down beyond the basics of sound.
Lacing the limitless score;
with all the anger and love I used to fit in the void.
God bless the mass burials to all the kids I've destroyed.