I've severed several unsavory ties
seeking a simpler way to be, I've
seen all the sorrow displayed in these eyes;
same as the shade of the grey in these skies
Seen the strain in the gait of the wise,
feeling a pain like a blade in each side.
Whatever that saying, "no pain or no gain"
is so plain in the way I create a design.
'Til the day that the pain inside came alive
the same day the bravery died
I was just trying to vent out the flames in my lungs,
One scream away from insane asylums.
We sung songs of the war we waged
to the snare drum roll of that pouring rain
and that set of chords resurrects the storm
'til these metaphors taste like petrichor

(chorus)
A pattern so perfect you could dance to the sound
The rhythm of falling all the way to the ground
You kept moving down you could have just turned around instead

If silence is golden then I'm fucking worthless.
All of my words tend to climb to the surface,
vines from the earth so silent in purpose
'til they burst through so violent and urgent.
It's like the blinds and the curtains were sewn tight,
losing my mind in the tricks of the low light.
It brings something alive in my bones like
half of these lines I feel that I don't write.
They're just words that I'm rattling to fill a set.
I'm just recounting all the shadows and the silhouettes.
It's like a drug and I'm battling the real effects,
getting apathetic and I haven't had a bit of rest.
'Cause every time that I close my eyes
and I try inside of my hectic core
this set of chords resurrects the storm
'til these metaphors taste like petrichor.

(chorus)
A pattern so perfect you could dance to the sound
The rhythm of falling all the way to the ground
You kept moving down you could have just turned around instead

I had a vision of a cataclysm and a padded prison
shattered prism scattering shadows over a canvas.
Thought I ought to follow along
swallowed a bottle of volatile 'til I started scrawling all over my handprints
Unsigned, confined, blunt, violent mind.
Punchline-drunk times punk, never tongue-tied
One time for the young minds on the front lines
stuck at 9-to-5s writing rhymes on their lunchtimes.
Comfortable under the thunder, numb skies
in the aftermath of the laughs and fun times.
'Til the light on the horizon dies,
a child of this rap shit, watch the son (sun) rise.
But when it comes to the summer sunshine
sometimes I just feel less is more
so that set of chords resurrects the storm
'til these metaphors taste like petrichor

(chorus)
A pattern so perfect you could dance to the sound
The rhythm of falling all the way to the ground
You kept moving down you could have just turned around instead

A pattern so perfect you could dance to the sound
The rhythm of falling all the way to the ground
You kept moving down you could have just turned around instead