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Cobwebs

from Pawn King Death March by Zak M.

/

lyrics

You never leave this neighborhood if you can help it -
you would turn into a pumpkin or melt.
You are your collection - your filthy roomful.
You do clean up nice too, sweep with a push-broom.

Later, at the station, with a leather bag to lean on,
you whine that you are luckless.
When the whiskey gets you heated,
you will brag that you cum buckets.

But lust is just the devil's spittle -
see, he trickles down your chin.

I swore I'd never write another song with the word "whiskey" in it.
You're a lovely scumbag with a shit-eating grin.

Eager to please, like we lonely, hoping.
Swear it's worth it you shit with the bathroom door wide-open.
Stay up watching something on your phone,
Alone.

I never leave this neighborhood as well.
Done a desperate thing for every notch on my belt.
I'm a piece of garbage - I live a life of filth.
Dusty dog hair tumbleweeds, ancient mouse shit, cobwebs.

All night I spy my target through the glass.
Everyone's a victim, except for me.
Everyone's a victim.
This one likes to milk it.

Who is the you is the trick, I think.
But the you change each time is the thing.

Did you catch me red-handed?
I always lie when I'm caught in a trap and I'm caught.
I only think intrusive thoughts.

I caught a glimpse but I lost it.
Never in the mood - it's always, "I'm exhausted."
O love, I love a love is toxic.
See me sink my fangs in a toxin,
spreading malicious gossip or coughing.
I know you think I'm obnoxious.

credits

from Pawn King Death March, released October 31, 2014

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Zak M. St Louis, Missouri

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