Crywank - Cool Knife Bro lyrics
[Crywank - Cool Knife Bro lyrics]
I want to brush my hair some more
But, I’m scared it might fall out
I want to paint my face again
But, I’m scared that they might shout
I dream of being pretty more
Than I do of thriving
And dream of being remembered more
Than I do surviving
I cross and cross and cross these
Trails and cross re-cross old paths
Retread through all the footsteps where
Once we were so sad
It’s nice to revisit it's nice to replant
But do I garden my trauma
Like the spineless sycophant
In busy rooms all there for me
I still feel misunderstood
But it’s ungrateful brain, and chosen pain
To say I feel unloved
I might be often drama king
I may mope and pout and grumble
Even in improving circumstance I
Still find myself disgruntled
I dig and dig
Dig out my brain with primordial soup spoon
Phantasmagoric memories are slowly detuned
And endlessly I rewrite all
My histories of you unstable causality
Breathes into tapestries untrue
And soon unsure the guilt I feel
Just comes from my disposition
If these proppian dichotomies are
Just my own rendition
Some days I feel the hero
Other days I feel the villain
Perhaps we both are mutually
Instigator and the victim
I want to think so fickle
And live just aesthetic life
Because this self-analysis
It cuts through me like a knife
It slices so mathematically
Into these perfect halves
And the binary of thinking
Can tear my head apart
But, I’m scared it might fall out
I want to paint my face again
But, I’m scared that they might shout
I dream of being pretty more
Than I do of thriving
And dream of being remembered more
Than I do surviving
I cross and cross and cross these
Trails and cross re-cross old paths
Retread through all the footsteps where
Once we were so sad
It’s nice to revisit it's nice to replant
But do I garden my trauma
Like the spineless sycophant
In busy rooms all there for me
I still feel misunderstood
But it’s ungrateful brain, and chosen pain
To say I feel unloved
I might be often drama king
I may mope and pout and grumble
Even in improving circumstance I
Still find myself disgruntled
I dig and dig
Dig out my brain with primordial soup spoon
Phantasmagoric memories are slowly detuned
And endlessly I rewrite all
My histories of you unstable causality
Breathes into tapestries untrue
And soon unsure the guilt I feel
Just comes from my disposition
If these proppian dichotomies are
Just my own rendition
Some days I feel the hero
Other days I feel the villain
Perhaps we both are mutually
Instigator and the victim
I want to think so fickle
And live just aesthetic life
Because this self-analysis
It cuts through me like a knife
It slices so mathematically
Into these perfect halves
And the binary of thinking
Can tear my head apart