paroles de chanson Personal Journalist - Sage Francis
Sage
Francis
Personal
Journalist
1968-2001
He
left
with
deep
breaths
in
each
chest
that
needs
less
innovating,
Because
they're
still
debating
over
what
"rhyme
skill"
is.
Got
Sick
of
Waiting...
for
time
killers
to
get
over
their
murder
raps.
Then
he
sold
his
own
shirt
off
his
back
For
cheap
exposure.
He'd
seek
for
closure
but
stayed
open
minded.
Always
seemed
to
keep
composure
peeking
over
both
his
eyelids.
Speaking
vulgar
in
misleading
cultures
of
ultra-violence.
Teaching
others
how
to
be
more
loving
through
brotherly
guidance.
A
bleeding
soldier
knows
the
science.
He
does
the
math
quick
and
writes
Without
having
to
think
twice.
Without
asking
for
advice.
Letting
the
scalps
peel.
Having
brains
picked
by
head
lice
before
the
scabs
heal.
His
death
mask
conceals
his
face
paint.
It
feels
like
a
safe
place,
but
it
ain't.
Feels
like
it
safety
seals
fates,
but
it
don't.
He's
not
a
real
saint.
Just
another
one
of
those
religious,
political
jokes.
And
that's
not
even
half
of
the
nutshell
cats
are
compelled
To
crack
open
to
extract
his
blood
cells
from.
When
he
comes
back
from
hell
again,
You'll
have
a
few
bones
to
pick
with
a
fractured
skeleton.
Sage
Francis
Anti-socialite.
Secret
Admirer.
Student
Loaner.
Continental
Drifter.
Professional
Bootlegger.
Spin
Doctor.
Self
Referentialist.
Road
Runner.
Personal
Journalist.
Word
is
the
worthless
wordsmiths
were
conversing
impersonal
twists.
Heard
they're
concerned
with
making
the
Earth
shift.
These
kid
games
are
silly.
When
all
art
is
signed
anonymous,
He'll
turn
that
Big
Bang
Theory
into
a
Small
Pop
Hypothesis.
Sage
Francis.
Death
Merchant.
1968-2001
Devoted
son...
father
to
none...
Husband
to
something
soulless
and
didn't
spend
his
life
with
who
he
loved.
The
hardest
workers
in
showbiz
need
no
diamond
studded
glove.
"His
time
is
up!"
He's
still
the
type
poised
to
make
a
come
back.
Kill
the
white
noise
until
the
sun's
black.
Moonwalk
around
New
York
City
and
get
murdered
by
flocks
of
sheep,
Who
square
dance
circles
inside
a
box
of
beats.
The
California
Dream
sequences
end
quick.
Couldn't
find
middle
ground
in
little
towns
on
some
Midwest
trip.
He
stood
for
something...
but
fell
for
every
trick
in
the
book,
so
he
stopped
believing...
In
an
avant
garden
of
Eden.
"Get
off
the
cross!"
Of
course
we
need
the
wood
to
burn
a
Godless
heathen.
Catch
him
red
handed...
only
if
his
palms
are
bleeding.
Sage
Francis
Non-Prophet.
Artificially
Intelligent.
Avant
Guardian
Angel
Dust
Mite.
1968-2001
It's
been
a
pleasure.
It's
been
a
pleasure
But
get
out
of
my
weathered
face
with
all
that
sunshine
Get
out
my
weathered
face
with
all
that
sunshine
Get
out
my
weathered
face
with
all
that
sunshine
Get
out
my
weathered
face.
1 Crack Pipes
2 Different
3 Personal Journalist
4 Inherited Scars
5 Climb Trees
6 Broken Wings
7 The Strange Famous Mullet Remover
8 Smoke And Mirrors
9 Message Sent
10 Eviction Notice
11 Pitchers of Silence
12 Specialist
13 Hopeless
14 Black Sweatshirt
15 Cup Of Tea
16 My Name Is Strange
17 Runaways
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