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letra de fugue - henry lin

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[verse 1: henry lin]
pointing fingers accusing, with sickness always losing, the cl-ss pagliacci as a student
did the dance, fat fusions, it’s only soothing, a wine gl-ss filled with lighter fluids
for the blueprints, drafted after “pens down”, b-mp blindly into confusion, self-abusive
my thesis is the conclusion: elusive, a nuisance back to music with immature amus-m-nts
no talk, just chalk and callus still unsure if the previous goal’s a distraction
detachment, the past, her, a crash course, derailing the f-cking orbit in front of the black ball
condescending, hollow (虚), corroded chain torn out of the chest, leaving behind an infected wound
tell me if it’s still a little soon, the lit harbour, but dim the monochrome streetlamps to set the mood
since affection is always misconstrued, slowly but slowly the gradient fades into mute
in the residue, the misery swirls, alleviating by projecting it onto someone else
the fragility fractures, knife slashes on the canvas, the warmth of paranoia, paraffin lamp, no matches
gashes on the heart disinfected by the rain, initially a love song but this is what had remained

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