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letra de blacklight (respiration) - nick zazove

verse 1:

i’ve been inside a maze for 19 years beyond horizon
a draco smile hitting thee: reprisal
sordid as i am, i’d rather beat around a drum than hear your wallows
a proof for why the evidence was shallow
i can’t trust a gremlin if his handshake resembles friendly gallows
they’d rather love a trend than breathe the sad note
i reach into my pocket, feel the vibe then sip my brew
a bad excuse for happiness, but girl, i’d hate to choose
you’re looking at me cross-eyed, the heart is in the right hand
the mic stand is at half mast so i’ll take you to the moon
it’s a private conversation, locked and loaded for the night
where she reeled me in with catchy hooks, i speak in lonely tripes-
why can’t i just be the rest between the measures, my own public expenditure
ogling the threshold of my sepulcher
i’ll hide her in the shadows, to brighten up the black holes
between the watchful predators who orbit just to crack codes-
a kind of broken sentiment, extracted from the petulance
the notion that it’s egocentric blacklist to the echelon
granted i am three feet deep into the sixes
she kissed me at the apex: i had palled into the blithe-itch. enrich this:

(hook):

when the mind recedes into its shadow
the wind sweeps all the excess-greeting the flash as floating capsules
i never knew myself, that’s why i’m shackled… i need the rush
i need her touch to feel something, i’m shallow

verse 2:

our own promised escape, the spotlight in my face-
lipstick dripping off her sun-stained grip in lieu of chaste
i don’t know my taste, but the isolation’s heavy
among the ego-teethers i am xed in forms of penny
amended for the ready-set-repellent down at 42nd
c-ked a score of digits for the order up aplenty-
wh-r–dependent. cordial ending. norman bets or schlep the present-
down a mound of n-bodies that stockpile my shelves in debit
no guns, just flashing ones. and when the parti-
pris emptive strikes h-t three i run
a mismatch made in heaven negatively in the plunge:
she never will substantiate material in hypodermic sums
it’s not her fault: it’s just a wry gestalt
she’s pretty as the penny on my nickel-plated gums
i falter at the pall between “ignored” and curtain called
you never realize you’re stuck in blacklight till you fall
(that’s right my dude. you gotta go for those b-tches man, you can’t just stand there looking sad on some weird -ss sh-t. that’s why you’re all by yourself now. you’re doing it right now. stop thinking. don’t f-ck with me man, f-ck you)

(hook):

verse 3:

back in the mirror, cats’re trynna sell me ropes
so i smoke, hang the effigy and fall free from the trope
in a modern world, it’s silly to care, because the knife that twists-
makes blood boil into thin air. that’s why she’s downcast-
and the feeding hand is left for the crash. my wings are beaten
i think i’m seeping deep into the mask. i need to reason-
past my own distrust and calculate a broken path-
to fix in retrospect, my death being the toll to reach the -ss
not for social compensation. it’s treacherous man
conniving lemmings sipping guts from bricks to catch me in vans
that’s why the blisters look within, the concrete fits smugly, i’m standing-
on the shoulders of an epicure of chud for the brand
where did i land? in her bowl, smoked or shot up to the fandom
reiterating tropes to feed the bantam
my anthem is ignored largely cuz i speak with phantoms
the cast list was my torch- alone you seem to feel the sanctum
and she’s the magnum
bang…

alone the world just seems to vanish… and she’s the atlas

- nick zazove

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