The 2 A.M Writer

Empire State Christ

Sitting in elevators

Counting the digital counter and spots on the ceiling

Tile by tile, beep by beep

How much higher can I ever be?

Like a fish on the hook

Being pulled to heaven, baited by sate

But you know, I kind of like it

Smiling through betrayal like a little shit

I\'ve got nowhere else to go

So it might as well be up to the sky

Call it a metaphor for Christ like figures

But don\'t, or dare pull their triggers

...

Melting like a broken candle

My flame will burn even when I\'m bust

Guess it, you never do

Never do guess what\'s got me blue

My mouth is stuffed with cotton candy

Never speak yet who\'s complaining?

Shovel in another mouthful again

Remind you, it\'s what makes me bend

...

Now I can see

What story you call a prophecy

What the higher worms call a pipe dream

But I know

Oh I know

How I fucking know

Which way we really flow down the stream

...

You\'d wish it was sweeter