Promoe - Post Cards lyrics

Head out the door like before
Pick my things off the floor
Go on tour after tour with a huge
Ass bag that can't fitt my love
With a useless bag, man it can't fit my love
There i go again repeting myself and i'm
Deciving myself till i belive in myself
That i need something else
Jeopardizing health looking, looking
Looking for something
But i really can't tell what
It is, what it was, and again shall be
Maybe it shifted through the years
And i'm stuck in
The dream that i had as a teenager
Rappin ass fiend now with
All this stress around
Me i can't recognize me so i
Pick up the phone and a bad connection and a
Low battery dose little to hide the thought
That we miles apart and it
Drives my heart insane trying
To start to explain all in vain byt i'm sayin

What should i write
Pick up the pen don't know
Where to begin it goes i miss you
Well it's true but iy's lame
Ain't no words to explain how can i tell you
How much i miss you

Cus the words have been used
And abused for so long
They don't mean nothing
No more to no one and specifically not us
We're thinking about stuff a little bit
Too much with our critical outlook
That kind of makes us depressed and when it
Aches in our chest we're desperately lookin
Lookin for ways to espress
Our deepest emotions
But somebody stole 'em sold 'em
Back to us perverted, distorted
That's why when i tell you i love you
You can't hear
I wanna tell you to trust me forever
But, I don't dare cus the words have
Been used and abused for so long
I can't relate to their hate
Don't want it in your song cus
If love is a burger from a fastfood chain
If love is some bling on a fat goldchain
Then the blood must be freezing
In my ice cold veins
And what i feel for you must
Be that thing called hate

(and it's not, so what the fuck)

What should i write
What the fuck should i write yo i miss you
Well it's true but iy's lame
Ain't no words to explain how can i tell you
How much i miss you

Then when i finally come
Hom after weeks alone
Rhyming on the phone from the studio
In gothen and writing little
Poems on postcards and pieces of
Paper from japan and amsterdam
I'm half the man when i greet you
Like we a four legged
Two headed creature separated from eachother
In a earlier life
To be complete i must make sure
This girl be my wife
And it's easier said than done
But tis love accident ain't no hit and rum
I coulda stay right here till the police come
Thoug this ain't that kind of movie
So them fools get none
And it ain't no hollywood ending either
She's not a girl with a gucci
Prada or fendi fever
It's real characters of real flech and blood
Who fight, hurt, make up and shit
Sweat and love
(and miss eachother like hell)

What should i write
Whit all our imperfect perfections
I miss you how can i tell you
How much i tell you how much i miss you