Folly Discussions is for the Pigs Letras:
I have a block on my brain and a clock in my mouth
and I'm tasting each second. For days I've
swallowed the hours. Striking worth into the air
with words like arrows that were stuck into my
knees; To pin me to the chair, to force me to
write, I've got a pencil and a thousand thoughts
but my wrists won't move. Why are my thoughts the
flies on a rot aloft each other in persuasive
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decay? Their decay is my demise. I control this
square with just enough space to envelop an
affliction. They are all dead to me. They are all
DEAD. Oh no, it's a comfortable rape! Unlike any
normal respite, this canon-style boredom is a
crippling image. Ready to pop at any moment,
red-faced children can't vomit. Insignificantly
hopeful, they are pulling on these coiled limbs;
They are taught and confined. In this environment
I am my own destruction. Relying so heavily on
every possible sketch... procrastination... lost
cause... knowing nothing...
Letras: Discussions is for the Pigs Folly [final]