Cigarettes and Snowflakes




Ability to Dream


I’m attempting to live life long enough to where I can afford a vacation

Yeah, do drugs on beaches and flirt with sexy foreign girls

See swirls on some foreign made shit and maybe never come back
Look at cracks, make jokes that are whack and find some happiness I can contract

Yeah, I’ve got a mask to my face trying to understand the place I’m in and blow up with pace

Trying to live a life with pills on the dash
Trying to understand that there is more to live then success and cash
But then there comes a memory or two,

Of my father or of my old crew, holding our breathes floating through air until our faces turned blue

And it’s true that you only live once, but is that a good thing?
If you have a disease or a lack of rings and bling, you are tortured within yourself

Religion can’t do the trick so you call up a magician and watch your friend’s dick desecrate who you love

At least for that one day, you had a lot to do and even more to say        

On your brain, all hate comes into play

But what if life was a chair of bowlies or some type of abstract shit, if we could fall down a bottomless pit and find some rhymes to spit, find some canvases to paint and some essence that’s already been lit

All the incomplete in life is art, we all can’t draw but we have the ability to dream and think




My hair is wet whipping around as I bang my head against the wall, no surrender to never fall

No feelings when you call and no emotions in that bloody bathroom stall

No life to live beyond the pieces I possess now, I can’t hear you anymore you are to loud

The days when the music stopped

The moments when the temperature plummets, and your clothes dropped

The times when I had nothing except the blood coming from my cut

Gun to my head as I run out of luck
You thought you knew me before, but now I’m locked behind this steel door
Crawling through oblivion on all fours

In all of the land, I haven’t found a smile with less meaning then yours

I haven’t seen anything so horrible in my time, your heart rots not your teeth
All the bodies buried beneath you buried alive, trying to contrive reason to break from your clutches

Ashes falling from your cigarette like snowflakes in winter, but this is humid summer in the town center
I’ll bet my wrist, my neck and you’d best understand I’ll be around to get some gold dentures
I’ll be around to mend my scars, hop a few bars and spit for the stars

The moments when the hair on my arm stands up



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