Tilt Acathasia Letras:
One laydown machine burned a road, right through
the prairie, stream of = boiling ash painted up
with perfect lines, discount labor packing each =
lane, bargain basement homes sewn to the road,
slipshod directions do = not explain. I got these
shoes for nothing and they have lasted me =
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forever, searching up and down the lost highway. I
can read the grid, I = have memorized the key,
counting every inch from C-4 to J-3, I can think =
in scale 'cause I know it ain't on my map,
scraping off the typeset, dig = into the atlas.
Well they can paint it up, make it appear to go =
somewhere, well they can paint it up, but I know
where it doesn't lead. Submitted by: Mel
Letras: Acathasia Tilt [final]