Fax Gang

Sky pitch black, I know I’m not looking back, all I’m seeing is the darkness
Looking for a sweet taste but I’ll never replace, lingering with tartness
I can never think well, drawing from the inkwell, suited to an artist
Put it down precisely, flowing red inside me, I make a deposit
Hands are getting shakier, spilling on the paper, writing getting blotted
Wiping off the ink first, scars all on my fingers, never getting clotted
Pen is getting filled up, scabs are making build-up, situation’s common
Stain all on my shirt, can you tell me why it hurts if I’m making something lauded
Hand to my chest like I had a heart attack
Plugged to the cables, jumpstarted that
Tied to the chair, sitting on the launching pad
Dot on my head, don’t know that I’m targeted
Only see distortion, pixels, artefacts
Never learned to clean up, erase, or sharpen that
Program aborted, crashing, start, react
Wonder why I find it harder to relax
Smoke in the air, sky tinted carbon black
Inhaling too much, yeah, I’m going sorta mad
A death of a kind, yeah, I guess you’d call it that
Close to the monitor, flatline cardiac
Ascend, make amends, tell me where the party at
Looking to the gates but I see them guarding that
Apples to apples, where’s the garden at?
God, won’t you tell me if I’ve got my pardon yet?

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