Dive

Duration

6:13

Description

Lyrics

This is not a game, I'm donating my name, 'cause this is so much bigger than one reputation... Now I'm not here to hurl verses manicured for a purpose beyond the purpose of personally divulging the worst, the best, and the rest, and every little groove and crest in me, a no BS cross section stretched across a lit panel to let the intrepid, most fearless analyst grab a hold of chaos, stand up and dance with it, the place where we're headed doesn't take shit for granted, and if you believe in evil, then I'd sit this one out, because you're not cut out for this, pull up your moral manuscript, recite it, occupy your mind and let us handle this, because everything is game from incestuous rape to cannibalistic infanticide, snuff cinema, violent pedophiles, all is worth examining, the human spirit is our specimen, scalpels ready, start dissecting, 'cause the day that we fear it will be the death of us. It's hard to watch a man immortalize his disease to keep a burdensome admission of mortality From robbing eternal innocence of eternity “your perversion of compassion fools no one, so please just leave...” It's hard to watch a man immortalize his disease wagging fingers at his arm while it blackens in atrophy “Angels don't need your help to live life as angels will” “So please go sanctify the sinner's plight somewhere else” (Stub the toe to reprimand the foot that you despise And in your triumph, feel the eyes you love begin to cry) What a catch 22 How can we see this through? Where to kiss the wounds of filthy men will spread disease But to turn our backs will justify their apathy I know you...I've seen you in my sleep You were the one at whom the multitudes would throw their stones Thinking their intolerance would help to stunt your growth But now we see you grinning with the lips of your new host Dive! Dive! Maybe my lyrics will make you sick or delirious from hearing a lyrical, unhinged empiricist subjecting the spirit to principles of empiricism, listening to sinister sentences extend into disciplined attention to wickedness's origins, intending to pin and illuminate it and then never ever let it take another person again. But before I get off thinkin' I'm a prophet of truth, I'ma say off the record this is for me, not you. I'm more imperfect than most, and more obnoxious to boot, gotta scream at myself to wake up the kid in the mood. 'Cause see I know what it's like to hungrily dream of silence, to hate yourself so bad that you descend into violence, pull the war inside out just to rest your mind for a while, or to alienate the only ones who care, fight back the tears while your last friend disappears. I don't know why we do it, but maybe it's guilt, so we punish ourselves to bring a little moral symmetry to our hell, or maybe it's some sort of sick form of expression, that never successfully could deliver its message when its own undercurrents of incessant aggression every second are threatenin' to carry the words that would've carried the message before they ever get heard by a soul downstream and eject 'em. I kinda feel like in the philosophical drivel I traded the health of my psyche to scribble an illegible foot note in the volumes of man, but shit...now that I'm here, better take it away, can't let my spirit lose its luster in vain, so carry it home, and never look back, ready? Here goes! Where the ocean opens up And the lost sink in regret If no one takes the dive Say goodbye...