I paint dash lines like yellow dripping icy melt all across your floor,
Painting my way out of the front door.
I paint my face black and stay in the middle of the middle of the night,
I am always right.
Heart breakers? Risk takers? Money makers? Fucking fakers,
All those billions of fakers.
And who do you think sat frustrated dreaming up chaos to sweep across,
Who do you think is completely lost?
Who do you think sat with eyes red, feet and legs all tangled in a mess,
Ripping all the threads of the sheets off of this here bed?
Leaf rakers, medicine takers, tax payers and baby makers,
Fucking fakers.
And now all I'm doing is playing catchup with Death,
Paging through all these chronological regrets,
Interest rates, healthy markets and the slavery of debt,
Everyone around me trying to convince themselves there is no death.
Fakers.
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