Texty:
Places And Numbers Waking The Dead

peace on the inside burdens filling up my head only grief on the inside I've been waking the dead now mom and dad are dead and dead and all I'm left

bearings now but I have mapped the curves of your body I've traced them in my mind a thousand times this is where I place my hands and this is how we

and all the wars we wage we're not so different from the things we hate so grab your bible make your bombs the blast approaches and panic fills my chest

will never be your home And you will leave in the fall when the trees become graves And their colors lie dead in the grass? Gold and green torture me

, you won't leave with a dime, motherfucker I'm a monster, I sleep whole winters, wake up and spit summers Ghetto nigga, puttin' up Will Smith numbers Surrounded by 6's and

with numbers to see if they matched Scared to death 'bout the first time, I knew it would hurt In your house, on your mother's couch, she was at work Dead

believe in thieving And smoking weed, 'cause everything happens for a reason I hope my seed grow up and get even, it's open season And if you poor and

't know my name, I don't know if I can make it I don't feel the same, my brain is dead and I cannot wake it I don't wanna run, I don't have a place to

and play dead I know that you can hear this Go ahead and play dead Why can't you turn and face me? Why can't you turn and face me? Why can't you turn