Crickets, they chirp the secrets in hand of the greatest perpetrators
Deneuve-ian bust, a clue to the head of the latest cause of chaos
I'm the north sin
343 from Les Collegiennes
Alchemy?
No.
A slip of your firm Samaritan grip and your famous draw to neighbors
You sit up for work,
bored out into death, you get in on your daughter's séance
Now, I'm in your skin
Your week for the weed in your oxygen
Alchemy?
No.
If you don't say, I won't say anything
I'm supposed to fill you up
If you don't say, I won't say it
I'm supposed to fill you up
Now, stoic disturbed,
suburbia pricked, you've amended your taunt of failure
Boom, boom
White elephants and Oxycodone
Boom, boom
You'd trade it for all the things you're not
'Cause I've fallen out there
But I welcome others
...Out to me
Oh.
If you don't say, I won't say anything
I'm supposed to fill you up
If you don't say, I won't say it
I'm supposed to fill you up
I'm supposed to free you of your mind
I'm supposed to free you of your mind
That's nothing to let go
I'm supposed to free you of the good kind
The kind you write, the kind that you write home
I'm supposed to free you of the good kind
The kind you write, the kind that you write home
I'm supposed to free you of your mind
That's nothing to let go
I'm supposed to free you of the good kind
The kind you write, the kind that you write home
Or I'm supposed to fill you up
