Luyện nghe bài hát Trite

[Sage

i'm identity crises.
"no not." "yes we are."
i'm identity crises.
"no not." "yes we are."

i don't have a feeling that hasn't felt, feeling on my felt tip,
showing my hand...revealing i've dealt with.
and how i'm dealing. cut the deck. evenly distribute the
of shit during our disputes on weekends.
we can sing along to each other's song,
even if the interpretation is wrong,
just make sure you don't bring the mike,
'cause i care about meeting a boyfriend we can all like (nah!).
this song is called trite, ya like it.
substituted your name with the title but i decided that i'd keep it private.
violent dream sequences seem endless.
i can see myself a heated entrance
to your workplace with a on my face.
and a in my cheek. and a gun in my reach.
sneaking naked of myself under the seats of your co-workers,
putting a knife to your and screaming out "i won't hurt her!"
like, "let her go!"
and i'm like, "let her grow!"
prisoners listen to this. their rational side was out on a furlough.
i like family affairs.
i want a wife, a house, and two and a half to call when i'm not there.
then hang up the phone, and have my wife call up the company,
and ask the phone guy "why???"

and he's like, "ma'am...well, maybe you don't know how to talk."
and like, "damn...well...wanna fuck me?"
"yeah of course."

see? case closed. and he knows how to calls,
so i can't cranks saying, "i hate ya'll!"
i throw baseballs at my mirror, break a tear a-
nother page out of my diary, throwing it from the eighth 'til i hear a
pin drop. pallbearers are in shock.
they know i'm about to kill myself with a shot.
they bring for ammunition,
steal my lifetime magazines and cancel my subscription.
hands are just itching to scratch my clean records.
my rap sheets are infected, now i can't be
i just have to be elected! i ask for just a chance.
the answer back was "kid, you never did in the place."

speaking of that, me my blue ribbons back and anything that is mine.
waiting for a nice guy who can't it to the finish line.
when i die you won't recognize the picture buried the obituary,
but it'll say, "bye, i miss you much."

i'm always one for last words at time,
in a million years is this dead star will shine.
say my fuckin' name. nope. say my name. nope.
you don't...know to call me so you don't.
you don't you call me.
you don't you don't me.