Making shapes in my head. I'm tracing outlines of the prophets And celebrities I thought to be dead. You command the best from me. But the taste of mothers blood Don't got that kick I always thought it should be. If you're all out of excuses you're breaking the law. It's dumb you have excuses at all. I'm tracing frames from beneath my bed. 'Cause I have to hide from something, So I'm hiding from those books that I've read. Not all your actions Have come from reactions I saw. I know I can only run for so long.