Personal Journalist lyrics

Song information

Artist: Sage Francis
Album: Personal Journals

Lyrics

Sage francis
Personal journalist
1968-2001

He left with deep breaths in each chest that needs less innovating
Because they're still debating over what "rhyme skill" is
Got sick of waiting...for time killers to get over their murder raps
Then he sold his own shirt off his back

For cheap exposure. he'd seek for closure but stayed open minded
Always seemed to keep composure peeking over both his eyelids
Speaking vulgar in misleading cultures of ultra-violence
Teaching others how to be more loving through brotherly guidance

A bleeding soldier knows the science. he does the math quick and writes
Without having to think twice
Without asking for advice. letting the scalps peel
Having brains picked by head lice before the scabs heal

His death mask conceals his face paint
It feels like a safe place, but it ain't
Feels like it safety seals fates, but it don't
He's not a real saint. just another one of those religious, political jokes

And that's not even half of the nutshell cats are compelled
To crack open to extract his blood cells from
When he comes back from hell again
You'll have a few bones to pick with a fractured skeleton

Sage francis
Anti-socialite
Secret admirer
Student loaner
Continental drifter
Professional bootlegger
Spin doctor
Self referentialist
Road runner
Personal journalist

Word is the worthless wordsmiths were conversing impersonal twists
Heard they're concerned with making the earth shift
These kid games are silly. when all art is signed anonymous
He'll turn that big bang theory into a small pop hypothesis

Sage francis
Death merchant
1968-2001
Devoted son...father to none..

Husband to something soulless and didn't spend his life with who he loved
The hardest workers in showbiz need no diamond studded glove
"His time is up!" he's still the type poised to make a come back
Kill the white noise until the sun's black
Moonwalk around new york city and get murdered by flocks of sheep
Who square dance circles inside a box of beats
The california dream sequences end quick
Couldn't find middle ground in little towns on some midwest trip
He stood for something...but fell for every trick in the book, so he stopped believing..
In an avant garden of eden
"Get off the cross!" of course we need the wood to burn a godless heathen
Catch him red handed...only if his palms are bleeding

Sage francis
Non-prophet
Artificially intelligent
Avant guardian angel dust mite
1968-2001
It's been a pleasure. it's been a pleasure

But get out of my weathered face with all that sunshine
Get out my weathered face with all that sunshine
Get out my weathered face with all that sunshine
Get out my weathered face