WARNING: SOME FLASHING IMAGES
this feels like a step up in the video editing department (at least to me) so here's to hoping i continue to improve.
that is all. see you in a bit...
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LYRICS:
- (almost) all lyrics have been changed from the original -
I had this little thing,
a slight disparity
between what I thought I was
and what I seemed to be.
And back then I was so sure
only a noose could end that war,
but out of stubbornness or spite,
my feet stayed on the floor.
The duality I hid
had begun to claw and writhe.
but those sick, unsightly ids,
now run right by my side.
And I'm still not sure it's safe
to attempt to satiate
the deviants sat inside.
Those freaks I love to hate.
T̴O̴H̴Ƨ̵ ̵Ә̶И̷I̴ﻼ̷Ɔ̷U̴ꟻ̵ ̷Я̶I̷Ǝ̵H̶T̸ ̸Ǝ̵ﻼ̴A̷T̷ ̷O̶T̸ ̵M̸Ǝ̷H̷T̵ ̸Ǝ̸Я̶O̵⅃̵ꟼ̷M̸I̷ ̸I̵ ̸И̷Ǝ̷H̵T̷ ̵M̷A̵ ̶I̴ ̷O̵H̶W̶ ̵H̵T̸I̷W̷ ̶M̷Ǝ̸⅃̷�̷�̷O̴Я̸ꟼ̷ ̵A̵ ̸Ƨ̴A̸H̷ ̷Ә̸И̵I̵Ǝ̴�̸�̸ ̸Y̵⅃̷Ⴇ̶Я̵A̶W̴O̶Ɔ̶ ̷,̸⅃̴U̶ꟻ̴Я̴Ǝ̷W̵O̶ꟼ̷-̵⅃̴⅃̵A̴ ̵Я̸Ǝ̸H̸T̸O̴ ̶Y̶И̶A̶ ̷Я̴O̴ ̴⅃̶I̶V̸Ǝ̵Ⴇ̷ ̶Ǝ̷H̶T̸ ̸Я̵O̵ ̶Ⴇ̷O̴Ә̶ ̶ꟻ̴I̸
Father, Saint and Mary, I hope you understand,
but your sermons are fucked and I need to take a stand,
'cos I think
that you've been playing this wrong.
I've come around a thousand times but I'm still singing this song.
THAT DAY
I wrote a couple rhymes
over tunes I didn't write
in an attempt to reconcile
what keeps me up at night.
But as ideas began to grow,
and the track list followed suit,
the halves I once reviled
had finally settled their dispute.
Brothers, friends and family, I hope you understand
that the person you see is a dark, divided man,
but the fact
is that is just who I am, and I can't
keep selling this facade when I know that it's a scam.
Father, Saint and Mary, I hope you understand,
but your sermons are fucked, and it's time to take a stand
'cos I'm sick
of hearing fears and demands.
Can you tell me the point in preaching if I'm already damned?
Who knew that what two can bring could be so unique?
This format that you had brought to me:
tridential sovereignty.
To anyone who knows me, I'm sure I sound absurd,
but I'm an egoistic queer under any definition of the word,
but I think,
for the first time in my life
that these oddities that bonded me aren't worth the fucking strife.
So call me sick or crazy if that's what you'd prefer,
but that rotten melody is one I've already heard
and you can stick that shit
where it can't be harmonized.
I refuse to be the person that my parents eulogize.
Call me sick or crazy. Call me what you'd like.
Fog so thick and hazy calls for holy light.