Familiar Taste of Blood (исполнитель: Enduser)
while you lose your face in altered states mistaking situations like supermarkets in foreign places for outer space i dance to the rhythm of your potential and rarefied brilliance caress your discarded harp ponder how i have nothing to offer while giving you everything across the vast expanse of the atlantic [bad word] down to semantics this frantic war of the words you make me feel like i’m stealing something when what i want is to hand over every last bit of me and all i’ve got is nothing but these penniless definitions falling all over themselves to get their 2 cents in talk is cheap nevertheless i go for broke [bad word] worthless verses which you belittle like its inevitable destiny its not easy to battle with an [bad word] full of low self esteem public defender for inner criminal guilty as sin you always win listen all i do is rise to fall like boomerangs, orbiting planets, and dogs in heat you always return to your point of entry as predictable as 1before2before3 your oppressive weighs heavy portentous like smallpox soaked blankets dangerous like its own omen i crawl out from under your thumb and end up backed against the wall breathless and accused i shake off the rain of your negativity chilled to the bone and i get wound up so tight this massive mortal coil makes double helixes look relaxed and loungey and you, you make a better idea than human being better in theory than practice you with your manic depressive passive aggressive propensity to simultaneously create and avoid tension you twist my intention like taffy baffling me pink soft and harmless as baby hand you decide what i mean before i’ve even spoken (son of mercilessly [bad word] with) (we all got some walls up) (its understandable) but i refuse to play stand-in for the role of your former assailant this pulling familiar taste of blood like sucking pennies second nature in the mouth of a prizefighter rearranging on the cellular level like metastasized panic dancing with your deluge of demons like it takes 200 to tango try to put me in my place give me something to really [bad word] against its this genetic predilection towards rejection i can not reason out this itch in my palms or rhyme your name out of my dream mantras it is like vomit on my tongue now it is a precarious position to be in i am a daredevil who dives headlong eyes closed, wrists open playing chicken with dignity always braced for collision