None More Black My Wallpaper Looks Like Paint Letras:
Forty miles from the city. Sitting in traffic
isn't fun. Crucifix stabbed in soil, to a father
from a son. There's ghosts on the highway. I
claim. Dancing on the medians. Slamming breaks.
I'm forty miles from the city and this is the shit
that's in my brain, I need a whim. Something I can
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get caught up in. I've got to get down to
something. If I could sacrifice a little bit, I
will. Some of us are drinking coffee, But how the
hell could you read a paper. Probably headlines of
fuel, While the governments putting all the red
tape down. Wake up, I just woke up. The revolution
won't be televised, 'cause it's in the morning
drive.
Letras: My Wallpaper Looks Like Paint None More Black [final]