It sounds complicated to sign off this residence
Outside the city, searching the oak trees
But what does it mean?
To see past the surface?
Past the purpose?
Nevertheless, my search as a tourist is losing purpose
Lungs breaking down from this dirt
That I swore was worthless
Lord, I know you see past the surface
I’m not a tourist, anymore
I’m all yours as before
As before
Well, this is my soul’s destination
Taking commission
I know there’s an infestation
A need for fumigation
Straight up for my imagination
Songs so heartless chasing after these tinted coins
Vanity so deep, but the mind engulfs it’s habitat
Within false hope
It seems like everybody feels immortal
But when death creeps
They can’t stop but feel mortal
Like a portal to reality
I know it’s vague but it’s reality
Got to pray for their reality
You can say i’m claustrophobic
From the time closing in on me
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