blase deviant
Bluelighter
- Joined
- May 9, 2004
- Messages
- 2,897
I'm the guy you see in a trenchcoat at the station,
Looking at you all and waiting for the clock to burn,
For someone to come by and fill
this crowded station full of,
These mindless thrills with a turn,
Always looking for a quick thrill
The flame of the night singes but never burns,
Still I need to... turn turn burn...
But always watch out for that trenchcoat,
I'm like a rabbit pulling the magician out of the hat,
I'd ride a burning viking sailboat just for a blast,
Thrill of the run, always something stirring in my vat
Looking for someone to put a cap,
On these runs of mine, this sap,
Who's on the thrill of the run.
No hurry, but don't push me, my clock's always ticking,
And I'm always spitting, head down,
Take a deep breath, ready for the test,
Will I give in it's midnight, looking for a fight,
It ain't right, that quick thrill, send me for a spill...
Though in the end time always makes it right.
Looking for mercy but it's like I'm too quick,
for God to find me, I'm sick, with it,
this rap I spit isn't even my soul just the thoughts,
in my head as I go with the flow, temptations,
as I try to fly with my trenchcoat cape,
this disease, brought down by the nape,
of my neck, brought back into check.
I'm the guy you see in a trenchcoat at the station,
Looking at you all and waiting
for this crowded station to burn,
For someone to come by and fill
Always looking for a quick thrill
The flame of the night singes but never burns,
Still I need to... turn turn burn...
Like into a vampire, disappear,
from all these nighttime thoughts I hear,
Morning comes it's like I'm sleeping,
in a coffin, during the night I'm bossing,
Alarm wakes me up sometimes, one eye open already peeping.
For that next, time I go for the run
Though I never take a spill,
Always get my fill, not what you're thinking
What's on your mind, it's time,
For me to turn and drop another rhyme,
Thought I was gonna say I get mine,
I do but I switch it up for ya,
Slow-minded you follow me,
Avoid the carnal side in my rhyme,
Because I'm full been filled before,
Looking back it was such a chore,
Still I'm the guy in the trenchcoat,
Always looking for that quick thrill.
Hopping through the subway turnstyles,
Hoping someone else is the one who wiles,
out in the dark, I caught the spark,
Like that closing subway door,
When the thrill of the run tempts I hit the floor,
Though I'm always ready I prefer steady,
When the thrill comes it's so hot the extinguishers wet me.
Thankfully, gracefully I sit at the bench,
Avoiding this thrill that causes such a stench,
In my mind, bystanders turn to look,
As in my head I sit, something new acook,
fear of a distant shore, runs through,
my mind as I snore at night,
still I cheat my way through life,
hop that subway turnstyle right,
into the demon hiding in the corner with a knife.
Slices right through the promises never kept or meant,
As I lay snoring in my bed, waiting for,
the eyes flickering with the reflections of a thousand ghosts
as I'm dreaming with my eyes open, as they boast,
of what could've been at the subway station.
And I wait for a mineral to keep my soul solid,
Something to keep me warm as I lay with eyes open,
These ghosts at the station are not it,
with this flickering candle watching me as I sleep,
so as not to make another misstep,
when you play with fire, chances are you get hit.
Looking at you all and waiting for the clock to burn,
For someone to come by and fill
this crowded station full of,
These mindless thrills with a turn,
Always looking for a quick thrill
The flame of the night singes but never burns,
Still I need to... turn turn burn...
But always watch out for that trenchcoat,
I'm like a rabbit pulling the magician out of the hat,
I'd ride a burning viking sailboat just for a blast,
Thrill of the run, always something stirring in my vat
Looking for someone to put a cap,
On these runs of mine, this sap,
Who's on the thrill of the run.
No hurry, but don't push me, my clock's always ticking,
And I'm always spitting, head down,
Take a deep breath, ready for the test,
Will I give in it's midnight, looking for a fight,
It ain't right, that quick thrill, send me for a spill...
Though in the end time always makes it right.
Looking for mercy but it's like I'm too quick,
for God to find me, I'm sick, with it,
this rap I spit isn't even my soul just the thoughts,
in my head as I go with the flow, temptations,
as I try to fly with my trenchcoat cape,
this disease, brought down by the nape,
of my neck, brought back into check.
I'm the guy you see in a trenchcoat at the station,
Looking at you all and waiting
for this crowded station to burn,
For someone to come by and fill
Always looking for a quick thrill
The flame of the night singes but never burns,
Still I need to... turn turn burn...
Like into a vampire, disappear,
from all these nighttime thoughts I hear,
Morning comes it's like I'm sleeping,
in a coffin, during the night I'm bossing,
Alarm wakes me up sometimes, one eye open already peeping.
For that next, time I go for the run
Though I never take a spill,
Always get my fill, not what you're thinking
What's on your mind, it's time,
For me to turn and drop another rhyme,
Thought I was gonna say I get mine,
I do but I switch it up for ya,
Slow-minded you follow me,
Avoid the carnal side in my rhyme,
Because I'm full been filled before,
Looking back it was such a chore,
Still I'm the guy in the trenchcoat,
Always looking for that quick thrill.
Hopping through the subway turnstyles,
Hoping someone else is the one who wiles,
out in the dark, I caught the spark,
Like that closing subway door,
When the thrill of the run tempts I hit the floor,
Though I'm always ready I prefer steady,
When the thrill comes it's so hot the extinguishers wet me.
Thankfully, gracefully I sit at the bench,
Avoiding this thrill that causes such a stench,
In my mind, bystanders turn to look,
As in my head I sit, something new acook,
fear of a distant shore, runs through,
my mind as I snore at night,
still I cheat my way through life,
hop that subway turnstyle right,
into the demon hiding in the corner with a knife.
Slices right through the promises never kept or meant,
As I lay snoring in my bed, waiting for,
the eyes flickering with the reflections of a thousand ghosts
as I'm dreaming with my eyes open, as they boast,
of what could've been at the subway station.
And I wait for a mineral to keep my soul solid,
Something to keep me warm as I lay with eyes open,
These ghosts at the station are not it,
with this flickering candle watching me as I sleep,
so as not to make another misstep,
when you play with fire, chances are you get hit.
