[Aesop Rock]
Yo, change the fucking channel.
I burn a coma candle.
When the flame fades, consider my flat line a soldier sample.
We them cats talking noise behind that New York trash heap where the stench of commuter briefcase replaces a bad sleep.
And it's the work of zig-zaggers versus piggy badge flashers training generation fallout.
Waterfall, bricklayer, pincushion crawl out.
There's smoke in my iris, but I painted a sunny day on the insides of my eyelids