1. |
Dead
01:52
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Dead
I can’t wait 'till he’s dead
Drag a knife across his neck
or pierce his body parts with lead
Either way, Dead
I can’t wait 'till he’s dead
Make him regret the things he did
To me
At night while I sleep, in my dreams
I shoot a couple slugs into his body and he screams
It seems to work better than counting sheep
And in the morning, when I rise
It’s like a zombie hooker; it blows my mind
And I can’t believe each day’s a day closer and it’s almost time
Dead
I can’t wait till he’s dead
Could take an axe to his chest
Or bury everything but his head
Either way, Dead
I can’t wait till he’s dead
Make him regret the things he did
To me
I suppose a freak accident would be okay, maybe
Like a trucker goin 90 splattering him on 80
Or hit by a meteorite, that’d be fine by me
But it seems more fun to smack your skull with a metal bat
Or tie him under and truck and off road it, see he what he thinks of that
It doesn’t matter how it ends, as long as he’s
Dead
I can’t wait till he’s dead
Pierce his body parts with lead
Or drag a knife across his neck
Either way, Dead
I can’t wait till he’s dead
Could take an axe to his chest
Or bury everything but his head
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2. |
||||
It isn’t something you write off
There’s nothing left to defend
And nobody knows ‘cause they’re fixed on a rose
When a storm is just around the bend
The pedals decompose, in your hand, in repose
They float off your skin, into the wind
And nobody wins
I wish, that I could take you back to that state of mind
But I know I can’t, and I guess that’s fine
I guess I gotta learn to live without it
I guess there’s no other way around it
I wish, that I could take you back to the place and time
But I know I can’t, and the dream’s a lie
I guess I gotta learn to live without it
Chaotic design was sublime
But it was only just a matter of time
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3. |
Keep Writing
02:36
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It’s nights like these, the thoughts are swirling
Of ex’s getting nailed by those presumably less deserving
Got my nerves up on the rise
Wanted to handle them like conspirators of 1865
But playing guitar, each strum was a thrust of a knife
On those memories in my head; Murdering My Mind
She looked at me and asked what’s the point of life
I said it’s the tip of a pen or pencil and all you gotta do is write
You gotta keep writin’, you gotta keep fightin’
Some day you’ll make it, do not mistake it, another failure for your last chance
All us musicians sit in bed lookin' at the blank page before us
I need another line, so let me grab my thesaurus
Because we got a million thoughts and you at least relate to one
But I’m sure you’d be more enlightened by staring at the sun
I’m done, At least I thought
But the pen keeps moving, and it keeps telling me
The Best things in my life were The Worst things that ever happened to me
But if that’s true, I’ll pain tomorrow for the sake of today
And I’ll cast the first stone while I’m a stone’s throw away, either way
You gotta keep writin’, you gotta keep fightin’
Some day you’ll make it, do not mistake it, another failure for your last chance
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4. |
Exposed
02:29
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We’re the ones who die when we arise
and revive when we fall asleep
Our souls, they thrive and feel alive in the midst of a dream
Sometimes we’re poetic
Sometimes we’re just plain pathetic
We have no apologetic aesthetic
We like to speak in prose
We like to take off our clothes
We’re head strong but our minds are exposed
We go outside everyday, trying to talk
Colors to people who only know shades of grey
We’re either stuck in our heads or our beds
We’re worth more than what we portray
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5. |
End
03:34
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I’m sick of wearing my shame in the Lines In My Face
I’m tired of prying the hands of society from my throat; Stay Away
Most people abandon their passion for pay
Is that a mortgage you’re paying for or an over-ground grave?
Our eyes are wide open but they’re glued to a screen
Our brains are wired to a time bomb, and so often it seems,
That we surely have the power but we ain’t got the will
To diffuse the same bomb that set to get us fucking killed
What will we do to break this curse of the naïve?
How Long Will You
How long will you believe, the land of the free?
More like free falling from the clouds of a nationalist dream
Prison and learning institutions are more frequently For-Profit
It’s right in front of our face and we don’t do a damn thing to stop it
They Got Your Back
Yea, They got it with a knife
They own the land, your food, your home
They’re running your whole life
How long will we be content with never righting the wrongs?
You want a revolution? You’ll need more just than a song
They Got Your Time
Yea, They’ve got you on the clock
And if time is money, then they're taking all you got
They better see you working, better not let them catch you stop
And if you do, you better have the cash or hold the cross hanging from your neck and repent
Be the perfect hypocrite of the man you claim to represent
How Long Will We
How long will be the land of the vigilant dead
The land of the warheads, the land of the overfed
The land of the orphans of emotion
The land who fantasizes about nuclear explosions
The land of the international two-faced friend
The land of the means to its own end
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Psychodynamic New Jersey
Psychodynamic is a Punk band from North New Jersey. We also like a lot of movies. Listen and see what I'm talking about.
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