Jonwayne - Echoes lyrics

[Intro] Getting older Getting older And more subdued... [Verse One] The days never cease to erase me Paint the scars And blue oceans erode Bite down with teeth like acorns in the mud But tell is known around my time I had my childhood been whittled down To thirty eight days of which I can still recall Lost fist fights and love notes Spread eagle across a bed of trash I still can't grow the moustache Can't remember to pay my parking tickets (sh**) My shirt is often dirty and it see me through these nights I eat the air like my final will my eagle says that I am the blueprint of resilience I still confess to elementary love (To elementary love) I still confess to elementary love Crumble like sheets of failed plans grab a scotch and take it like the antidote (It is the antidote) (It is the antidote) (It is the antidote) I couldn't tell you how long I've waited but it hasn't been long enough My bones are moist and full of marrow These veins are excited One day you'll test my patience and I won't be ready You would rather I blink my eyes first before I ask for what's coming Simply I don't trust the times of peace My heart races The ghost of our finest dead and a portal of stinking who*e that lurks behind the corner In this cold box of self-inflicted phsycadelium my active grip would break her diving in to the blood of stars The ceiling is mad against my hands I am sprawled out to catch and swallow my fate And clothes I should have donated But tomorrow holds anti-nostalgia The sands melt to me The sands melt to me As countless women slip through these fingers Drying fingers Chapped lips My love is what's beyond f**ing these flesh mirrors And hate is all the afterword of a brick wall tantrum And all these intensities are a lonely mobius on top of each other like old s** partners Yo I could spend my days counting back to one Feeling infinity inside of me Growing like a nose (Growing like a nose) (Growing like a nose) And my testicles forever dropping like atom bombs in space I'm so sick of my skin it feels as if my soon-to-be dust has my third eyes in chains That's the real hell, it's a personal closet six feet under in your Sunday best kept from the worms who have no dinner And trees who's roots are as dry as you But before I feed the gardens I always neglected I would like to feel the walls of my brain Just to see where the echoes come from Because all this time I thought I wasn't alone (All this time I thought I wasn't alone)