tale I hear, long forgotten broken toys tell me ancient lies of a boy I will sing of them in my fairy tale I was just a silent girl always dreaming of a
Truth is blurry and distorted And my vision stained In my mindless space silent voices wake Speak no good or worth, I feel no gravity Another promise
take everything away from me silent angel... apathy cries out from your lungs, indifference reeks of fiction time will tell how far you will go I can
to say I know you It's like you have all your secrets I don't know and never will Like a riddleated pages, nothing new A silent gesture, screaming out
Indestructable digging through the rubble Bubblin we don't need no more trouble That bahella-scope vision, hot hot fiction Like im running a muck upon a
there's any wisdom in a fucked up punk rock song But the way it is cannot persist for long a brutal sun is rising on a sick horizon It's in the
An idea dies, in the same slight way, that we lose track of the facts. Slowly, unseen, slipping silently, through some fabricated cracks. And now the
's why I need to you leave! I'm very busy trying to discover a new science!" [echoes] [Opio] Yeahhh, beats like this you just can't peep It's a natural
hot pepper, that you don't wanna taste to see So just watch me lace the beat gracefully And ain't a nigga got a thang to say My broken language slay niggas
loose and pouring out film lines A roaring flow abounds a warmth and joy that holds you open and apart in steps that never move So children come in find a
you know this beat by silent john gon be some science fiction shit and all you lesser mammals know that i bump this in my new spaceship im a tri lam
quite our stations), fit the world so why speak (vigilance over tired eyes), when all is silent, forever in silence, ( fall asleep is to slip), a chance
. And those experiences worth reliving are now eyes wide shut. They're eyes wide shut. It silently screams to me, this unanswered question; Was it fact or was it fiction? Was it fiction
sunlight of my home And I have seen it's the only way Now my sun is dead and gone I raise my head in silent anger Seems there is no place for me The
It's always the quiet ones Who are stranger than fiction They hide under tables like a child What kind of chemistry is it? Leaden or golden? Nobody sees
. The last few decades have seen Lovecraft's rise from a forgotten author of phantasmagoric pulp magazine fiction to a subject of serious academic study. (A
truth my dreams foretold An inner fire burns strongly within this shell of flesh And expels the outside cold The empires of a silent path, Leading through