[Verse 1: Rozz Dyliams]

Sitting in my room just praying for a sliver

Of inspiration as I watch Miss Fisher, efficiency delivered

Half-done loops, disappointing my inner completionist, self-centered

I'm contemplating what-ifs, if I'm twisting my whiskers

Practicing my scales and ripping open my blisters

Couldn't ever cut it, feeling like half of a scissor

My marbled language swarms and forms into a river, another vibes off night

How is it that as I move closer to the light

It appears to get dimmer, this time, dark depths of the mind get entered

Another nice night of nothing but whitе rice for dinner

Sometimеs can feel kind of like a splinter knife

Cuts through the tension as the air gets thinner

Cannot appreciate a thing of fate all on its own

Can't seem to focus on anything beyond being bitter

[Verse 2: Rozz Dyliams]

Witnessed a familiar silhouette flitter

In the same place that hope once had a glimmer

Glint and shimmers, shoveled, stewed, and simmered

Petrified shell protect purified innards

Fingers all skinny, hands atrophied and withered

I used to be a writer back in the day, but my liver

Couldn't seem to keep up with anything ever

Better yet, it couldn't catalog anything I wish I could've remembered

Now this is what you really call living

Made a noose out of an old Smith Corona ribbon

Counting the knots down, one for every minute

Standing on the business of quicksand, standing in it

Endless alterations, augmentations, and edits

BB at the end of Suburbia right before the credits

If I don't even know what I'm looking for

Then how can I be disappointed if what I get is not what I expected