The Sycamore
137
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I'm afflicted Drowning in my passion's well But I'm chosen Even if I'm not so well I got seas to swim Before I meet ol' Grim And the reason why I'm picked goes beyond my quill Brother's chosen 'cause he doesn't give a f*ck about a date or a plate I'm like a leprechaun that's looking for a rainbow to sate His hunger inside Except it's not upon the pot of gold I've relied I bridge the divide Between the fucking haves and have-nots I may reach and grab naught But I glean what I've sought Like a termite eating all the fucking wood that does rot Take a peek under hood of the vehicle progress Challenge yourself not to cry in the process You think I could I do better You think all my morals fetter I don't think so but you should cover up 'Cause even if it's summer if I'm spitting bring a sweater Wearing king's new clothing But complain how I'm sewing Find out what my pen's wrought What I've gleaned from bleeding Craft is the radix Of madness and sanity Please don't excuse My fucking profanity Charon pays me when I wanna ride across the Acheron What I have's a superpower, it can't be turned off at whim Sweaty and bloody I am prepared to run a marathon Hiking up the mountains even if I have no fucking limbs Break the script like I am Truman Burbank To run engine progress, you need more than diesel Artists find the profit with no cash in the bank But seen many a prophet crucified on easel The laymen are thinking the making is simple 'Cause I have been able to make it look easy I jump in the lake for the sake of the ripple And flip into water to make it look breezy I'm seeing the lemon you're finding appealing The cinema villain and cinnamon killing But seeing the rotting, you find it appalling I figured I'd give you a bit of reminding They're chalking it up as a blooper I'm stabbing and popping their bubbles I'm shocking them out of their stupor Keeping the beard of wisdom's hard When the masses yearn for stubble But the beautiful part of a bard Is seeing the past and the future in the distance Like the Hubble Brother's chosen 'cause he doesn't give a f*ck about a date or a plate I'm like a leprechaun that's looking for a rainbow to sate His hunger inside Except it's not upon the pot of gold I've relied I bridge the divide I was alone Growing up and polishing craft But it was same in the womb So I was used to that path And also ken I that there's only room for one in the tomb So didn't accrue any crew But I won't weep at that tax Grabbing a gallon of rain To taste the firmament's tears Knowing the storm's a-brewin' In spite of how sky appears Takes a farmer to see sycamore in the seed A baker, to know how long the dough you will knead I'm the kind of tree that makes a sound when falling in woods Running race with nothing left, just like Good Book decreed Trace my roots to drum beats around fire Blown flute, clapped hands, sound of the strummed lyre Had nine lives With eight lost in transit Beat's a wave Chosen ones can ride it That's where term, washed up Must come from For those who can't ride Tides do deposit I kill Gremlins, with a water gun only 'Cause I Don't want any enemies lonely I got Many people calling me a mad lad 'Cause soul feels at rest When my flesh ain't cozy
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"The Sycamore Lyrics." Lyrics.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 9 May 2024. <https://www.lyrics.com/lyric-lf/7264886/137/The+Sycamore>.
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