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What else could he be, but a jester?

In a make-out session with aggression

Putting morals into question

Seven minutes in Heaven

Every twenty-four hours, I'm raffling

Handprint on my face, and nobody smacked me

A ghostly caress on my cheek has me laughing and gagging

Hear my body fucking bragging

About the brain that's still lagging

Elevator to the bottom of my ribcage

Flip it to the next page, letters all stacked on each other

Lost touch with a goal, vision is blurred

Ran straight into a pole

Elevator to the bottom of my ribcage

Flip it to the next page, letters all stacked on each other

Lost touch with a goal, vision is blurred

Ran straight into a pole

I was in Chicken Run, that's why I'm here now

So many stories, yeah, so much drama, wow

Everyone treats me like an old smoke stack

Like the tilted brim of a Party City hat

I can't get a word in, can't get nothing down

Nothing on paper except the layout of this ghost town

I write Tonapah cleverly, like Goldfield's elderly

Wobbling down a brick road, I hunt for my reflection

No more algorithm when I'm in the rhythm section

Mental inspection, always searching for perfection

Like Halloween candy, I give out brilliant affection

Creeping around the city

Whip around the corner

Pull up to a Dell, let me take your order

Peaking out my window, see a hearse doing donuts

Time to close the shutters

Time to close the shutters

Elevator to the bottom of my ribcage

Flip it to the next page, letters all stacked on each other

Lost touch with a goal, vision is blurred

Ran straight into a pole

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