13 & God - Superman On Ice lyrics

Somewhere between motivated and cold Somewhere between motivated and cold Somewhere between motivated and cold Somewhere between motivated and cold You on the ledge of all 241 ways to be you...basing guess upon guess There, where somewhere between motivated and cold believing your good friends down to the bile in their beautymarks they Who found you counting back toward yourself so haven't dreamt and heavily armed Yet another blues thief told in however and oneday And every Monday things begin with indiscriminate street noise more vague and normal alliance of all those with high levels of work in their blood and clock in their wake up early shaving damp breakfast skulls with fresh lady's leg razor so that the oneday the moon might hold a half a million nice size hoods easy and of plenty fast restaurants cast out in the cold of all names... this songs about disavowed s**m and the mining of human concern many cells split, many men died in 1998 the year of my strong, fair rap collection there are foot prints embraced far out on the frozen lake face depressed and kept from quite some cold ago, and they look brave, dangerous, man made the sort of mark one can make on the world you borrowed the camera from why and set it up by the printer and horsehead obsessed with your pressing record to indulge in the shallows of here and immortal it it god to name things from thin air to have the wind blow a few hundred dollar bills into your wallet to have 100cc's liquid luck supplement dug into your blood by needle point and distant star Are you busy loosing yourself in the quiet cell of abandoned old oakland pants undone, stole eye starting to water nailing a sign that speaks fear to a bank at the man made lake You cop you, will you now resort to black umbrellas in the sight blanching sun or stay indoors taking the pill to your face? Striking that lightning on nothing attempting to teach yourself the art of cloning at home in a smock k**ing single cell sheep for straight weeks till you give it all up for photoshop and using your teeth there in a box with your things, stabbed airholes, and one wing or white long, when your well will you stay since there is a modern earth pain only fit for enduring which one does endure like returning a foster child twice or going the distance on songs for somebody else's compilation No one's out there scared you'd set your eyes off all night on the ceiling in the dark think of a song or maybe breasts I thought I told you, this is not new... Skinned by the speed of my one life you have that desperate fair to your eyes the look of a child who has just swallowed a coin or army man almost to attuned to the spoils of loved wishing he'd been born some sort of succulent or larvae but your to soft for all that you like your blood kept in the movies and your head in a jar or vase in a van on tour your guts clumped like dung in a sturdy hatbox heart slung safely in the stomach of a clean sock or two here you are a bag of milk to do tricks and not as a function of pennies and how you've dreamt nosdam's skull been predatored given a split at the hairline and hinged with a lid and in it placed the single hard marble of art and it is there it is kept