Текст песни The Sycamore - 137

I'm afflicted
Drowning in my passion's well
But I'm chosen
Even if I'm not so well
I got seas to swim
Before I meet ol' Grim
And the reason why I'm picked goes beyond my quill

Brother's chosen 'cause he doesn't give a fuck about a date or a plate
I'm like a leprechaun that's looking for a rainbow to sate
His hunger inside
Except it's not upon the pot of gold I've relied
I bridge the divide
Between the fucking haves and have-nots
I may reach and grab naught
But I glean what I've sought
Like a termite eating all the fucking wood that does rot
Take a peek under hood of the vehicle progress
Challenge yourself not to cry in the process

You think I could I do better
You think all my morals fetter
I don't think so but you should cover up
'Cause even if it's summer if I'm spitting bring a sweater

Wearing king's new clothing
But complain how I'm sewing
Find out what my pen's wrought
What I've gleaned from bleeding

Craft is the radix
Of madness and sanity
Please don't excuse
My fucking profanity

Charon pays me when I wanna ride across the Acheron
What I have's a superpower, it can't be turned off at whim
Sweaty and bloody I am prepared to run a marathon
Hiking up the mountains even if I have no fucking limbs

Break the script like I am Truman Burbank
To run engine progress, you need more than diesel
Artists find the profit with no cash in the bank
But seen many a prophet crucified on easel

The laymen are thinking the making is simple
'Cause I have been able to make it look easy
I jump in the lake for the sake of the ripple
And flip into water to make it look breezy

I'm seeing the lemon you're finding appealing
The cinema villain and cinnamon killing
But seeing the rotting, you find it appalling
I figured I'd give you a bit of reminding

They're chalking it up as a blooper
I'm stabbing and popping their bubbles
I'm shocking them out of their stupor
Keeping the beard of wisdom's hard
When the masses yearn for stubble
But the beautiful part of a bard
Is seeing the past and the future in the distance
Like the Hubble

Brother's chosen 'cause he doesn't give a fuck about a date or a plate
I'm like a leprechaun that's looking for a rainbow to sate
His hunger inside
Except it's not upon the pot of gold I've relied
I bridge the divide

I was alone
Growing up and polishing craft
But it was same in the womb
So I was used to that path
And also ken I that there's only room for one in the tomb
So didn't accrue any crew
But I won't weep at that tax

Grabbing a gallon of rain
To taste the firmament's tears
Knowing the storm's a-brewin'
In spite of how sky appears

Takes a farmer to see sycamore in the seed
A baker, to know how long the dough you will knead
I'm the kind of tree that makes a sound when falling in woods
Running race with nothing left, just like Good Book decreed

Trace my roots to drum beats around fire
Blown flute, clapped hands, sound of the strummed lyre

Had nine lives
With eight lost in transit
Beat's a wave
Chosen ones can ride it
That's where term, washed up
Must come from
For those who can't ride
Tides do deposit

I kill
Gremlins, with a water gun only
'Cause I
Don't want any enemies lonely
I got
Many people calling me a mad lad
'Cause soul feels at rest
When my flesh ain't cozy