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Monday Morning

Monday Morning
  1. I Am a Corpse - 4:16
  2. Go Away - 4:16
  3. 13 Monkeys - 4:40
  4. The Transition Between Life and Lift - 3:46
  5. Listening to Whispers of Animals - 3:42
  6. Monday Morning - 4:29
  7. Indecision - 3:44
  8. Glass Walls (feat. Blockpick Circus) - 2:35
  9. Interlude II - 3:36
  10. All That's Coming is the Sun - 6:33
  11. 1053a - 2:12
  12. Egg Man - 4:36
  13. The End, Part I - 6:09
  14. The End, Part II - 4:47

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I Am a Corpse

I dream, that I lost my car 
I walk these streets, calling out its name in the dark 
I scream, but I’m losing all of my own teeth 
Moving out to move in somewhere that’s cheap 
Put them in a jar, that I keep, that I keep 

Oh-oh-woah x2 
I am a corpse 
Oh-oh-woah x2 
I am a corpse 
Oh-oh-woah x2 

I bleed and the blood runs red 
don’t you see that it’s all in my head 
they rob my grave, they took the things I made for granted 
they took my bones, they took my legs 
and made my home a grave 

Oh-oh-woah x2 
I am a corpse 
Oh-oh-woah x2 
I am a corpse 
Oh-oh-woah x2 

Don’t you know who I was 
the greatest that you never heard of 
the darkest, the darkest, the darkest to walk the earth 
to steal from me as I stole everything you were worth 
I dream I still have a body 

Oh-oh-woah x2 
I am a corpse 
Oh-oh-woah x2 
I am a corpse 
Oh-oh-woah x2

Go Away

Time has been slipping,
seems the days melt to missing
I’m an island, I listen, dial *69,
but all the pages are written
and my face isn’t finished,
now look into my / look into my / look into my eyes
I hide behind a smile that I wear until it fits me,
grow into the look until they swear it with a bitch, please
I’m not cool and I’ll never be,
that’s why I leave without mentioning
so I remain a memory
just in case they will mention me, like never,
but just in case they ever, pay attention to my rhetoric
I let it rip, with metaphor and simile
we’ve met before, it’s symmetry
in better form than it used to be
I’m a better whore, you’re a better John
better than we’ve been betting on
My head ain’t on, so look inside
tell me what you see tonight
Show me yours, I’ll show you mine
And we’ll see if we’re alive
we’ll see what we feel like
we’ll see what we feel
we’ll see if its real life
Can’t win but you play everyday
put your real face on and it won’t go away
13 Monkeys
Listening to the voices is like listening to myself
Listening to The Point Is and the stories that king would tell
I flick my wrist to avoid any real confrontation,
am I afflicted by the noise or a victim of the nation
Fishing for some luck in these telephone conversations
Visited by aliens, I learned that I’m impatient
Read the signs coming up, see that Willoughby is the next station
Drive these same roads for days to come,
rip a page from the good book until I’m down to the last one
It’s fun to be awake but very sleep deprived,
like watching home movies through your own two eyes
I’ve tried to change my life and be someone, but all I feel is despair,
like Tracy Chapman sits beside me, begging us to leave somewhere
But still we are like Russian dolls, nested inside what we have solved
Invested in this, with best intentions, then we find we’ve slept right through into detention
Then we hurry, try to fix and break again what won’t heal quick
[Oh, oh, oh]
Oh no, oh no
(Don’t know, don’t know)
Lift my head from a trance that is self-induced,
drive these roads until I hang myself and break the noose
Then I am exposed
I ran out of words to rap to this song, so I’m gonna make them up as I go along
I found a quarter on the ground today, don’t know what year it is
I ordered a cup of coffee, they give me one several sizes too big
And I checked the receipt, and they didn’t charge me a thing
They didn’t charge me a thing, still they apologized
[Oh, oh, oh]
Oh no, oh no
(Don’t know, don’t know)
The Transition Between Life and Lift
Instrumental interlude.
Listening to Whispers of Animals
Instrumental interlude.
Monday Morning

With Elvis in his velvet room, I’ve melted down my attitude
Felt my teeth are moving so I think that I should do it too
Get a tattoo to commemorate my future death,
tombstone with a blank slate for everything I’ve never said
Room service in a flat hell, where the trees grow from the crack house
and the hill goes down to the black town, where the white folk live in a glass clown
Put your back out pulling weeds, under the bright red sun that no one needs
Fight for fun when I’m holding these, with a wife and a gun and a cold for weeks
And a code I follow to the broken T, where the cross used to be when we believed in the G
I row my boat in a bottled up sea, for the exercise and what I’m trying to be
What I’m trying to see is the edge of the world, like The Truman Show hit the wall in the whorl
Like a two-man show is a one-man band with a pinup girl in the back of the van
Where the man’s hand moves like he’s heiling Hitler, with his pants undo’d by the violent zipper
Got three kinds of fruit in an island medley, bada-be-bada-boom by the silent many
Got sheep in his shoes so he counts ‘em plenty, before he leaps from the roof, surmounting any
Fear he had about the period, for the weary and lost, turn your head and clearly cough


I hate Monday morning
And I hate Monday morning
And I hate Monday morning
I hate Monday morning now
Chasing after false hopes and true accusations,
I am wading in a deep pool of preoccupation
Feel impatient, waiting for the day to end,
sleeping while I pay the rent, figure what I made I spend,
We don’t know what real men, are because we build them
we owe them our art and our hearts aren’t even real then,
get into my field and feel me up,
I peel back my skin until you can feel real love
Texts won’t send when it’s filled up, that venom flow will just build up
Until you’re poisoned by the chill stuff, killed by one of them pills, ‘cuz
there’s choices we don’t get enough, either go or say when you’re giving up
I fold away like a second bed, when I show my face you can second guess
When I hold your face so you can see the stars, gotta let you go but not too far
Maybe Mexico’s more fashionable when you’re matching the flow to lights in the dark
When the facts come slow like the fax machine, got a jam in the mouth but still has to feed
Maybe left alone I put the past to sleep, but I’m too fast for the road, better watch my speed
Monday morning,
(I hate) Monday morning now, 
Monday morning,
(I hate) Monday morning now, 


Instrumental interlude.
Glass Walls (feat. Blockpick Circus)
I feel stuck in a loop of saving time
and trying to bend my own mind, lay it down to rest
I choose between the ghosts behind the glass walls
and my desperate calls that are all seen in jest
That emasculated rap shit don’t fly here,
Don’t fly near, its a no-fly zone with a profile, dear
And I hold my own like I own right here
Like I hold my rope, pull it sometimes,
its a Pulitzer prize, and that’s an inside joke
Sin like Job, when he tried to kill Jesus,
Is that how it goes? Because I didn’t really read it
No phone lines here, can’t call a friend
Its a fine line between where you start and you end
When your art is at ten and your heart isn’t in it,
I bargain with them, but a martyr must finish
The farther you’ve been, the farther the limit
The closer it gets the harder to pin it
Like I’m closing in with my real face grinning
Like I feel the same as those who didn’t
The red tale before my own eyes
I believe my own lies, by the pencil stroke
And when the words can’t fail to describe,
but I mull to the side for a plainer folk
Suicide by death, its the only way out and the only way west,
the only weight left is the one on my chest, if only they found, found me dead
found me head amid the bread and the butter
the breadth of my work just left to discover
the depth of my words just a step in the gutter
butterfly’s fly by, don’t live their life, 
for the lies and eyes on tight
put a pie in the oven and then you right
but I am nothing but a violet kite
gon’ fly, got the wings up aight
winds up high got my limbs so flight
got my pencil, write why the wind so why
why the window wide and the door so high
slow down, slow down, I’m out of time
cut short, fight, flight or die by the line
D-I-E is where the wisdom lies
Me I eat like it’s all gon’ rhyme
Interlude II
All That’s Coming is the Sun
If it isn’t obvious by now, I’ve failed myself
If it isn’t obvious by now, I’ve failed myself
I am chasing after my past
moving toward the future with only half an ass
I am tired of sleeping
I don’t want to get up tomorrow
I am tired of breathing
I don’t want any more air
I am tired, can’t you tell
I sit there all day, throwing coins, counterfeit coins into a wishing well
They tell me I’m the best, but I don’t believe their BS
I’m afraid I’ll go on like this for as long as I live
I sit in the back of my car recording these tracks
I piss away my life, working for other people’s laughs
I can’t sing so well, but I write like a fiend
I’m a saboteur of myself, and if you don’t believe
I tell you a story, I got a story for that
I just say what comes to my mind, and I’m not so good at looking back
People are always moving, they can’t sit still
That sounded like kill
Are you obsessive? 
All I do is all I’ve done
Not much left now but to wait for the sun
All that’s coming is the sun
All that’s coming is the sun
it’s the sun
wonder what color the sun is when you get out there inside,
wonder what color the sky is if you were never alive
Salesman says it’s the same shit,
but if they don’t know, don’t change it
Running down on my patience,
running up to the base quick
Let’s play with my favorite toys in the toy box,
them Chinese toys we boycott, Oy them boys are muy hot,
poisoned the boy I lived with, but the new boy knows his physics
so a 2×4 to his business, either move or move them fish sticks
it’s vicious, name’s sabotage,
don’t want no cred but the gravitas
don’t want no head but the salad tossed, don’t want to go to bed but I have a boss
someone’d be dead if I hadn’t lost, I’m the last real man that you haven’t bought
like a flash in a pan is an ass to a man if you stick up your hands in a bad situation,
done fast in a van, attached at the hand, get my cash in advance when I go on vacation
zapped with a wand, slap my hand, won’t give up my land so live in my nation
Is it a nation or is it a day shift, is it amazing when people are patient
Hidden elevations living in plain faces the real is painted, surreal the fakest
been asked to stand, if it’s him I live in a backup plan?
Egg Man
The End, Part I
The End, Part II