The truth is that I’m not rapper
Just a guy who wants the rafters
To fill up with applause and laughter
And don’t give a shit about the cost or the problems after
The truth is that I’m barely lucid,
I’m fairly stupid and don’t care for Cupid
The truth is I might be alone forever
And if I’m not it’s gonna kill my music
Nine tenths of everything is worthless
Nine tenths of what’s left you work with
The last one percent has a purpose
And one tenth of that final hundredth is perfect.
That’s the ratio.
The truth is I’m no real Horatio
I tell stories so that folks will remember me
And I want to live forever but essentially
I’m lucky if I make it out this goddamn century
The truth is I’m worried I’m a sociopath
Because when I hear lots of bad news mostly I laugh
And I relate way too much with bullied lonelies and hacks
Maybe I got lots of empathy, I’m hoping it’s that
I’m over the fact that I can’t keep ponies off my playlists
And truth is I’m useless at holding conversations
So people find me regularly hoarding my friends
Because most folks are mundane and bore me to death
The truth is I hate it when the sky’s blue
I’d make it gray forever if I had the right to
I’d rather live at night when there’ssuch a nice view
And shut my blinds tight at the threat of any bright hues (32 out)

And this isn’t an ascension story,
The truth is I’m just awful at attention whoring
Don’t mention glory, I’m more close to undone
Only making songs cus I can’t leave them unsung
The truth is that I grew up weak and gullible
Nobody liked me so I learned to speak some subtle bull
Trick them all, when breathing’s on the cusp of dull
I don’t give two fucks bout being fleek or clubbable
Just fuck it all - I can’t get my head right.
The truth is I’m writing out the raps from a long list of deadlines
The truth is I’m here cus of a broken condom and an incubator
Less likely to exist than the next guy
The truth is I’m not rapping I’m just mangling beats
I might as well stop writing rhymes, start jangling keys
Cus they’ll stare as much - bleaker nervousness
The truth is I can’t seem to breach the epidermises
Like when I look at people I can only glean the surfaces
And have to wonder if the souls inside are screaming purposeless
Life is on a timer to the last
And we’ve each got a hundred milion eyes up on our backs
From the other sperm that could’ve collided with the egg
Not alighting if you beg, either fight em or collapse
I’m not silent on these facts but nobody’s gonna hear em
They might like it when I rap, but they won’t follow a theorem
Desperate for truth like I’m swallowing the serum
But truth is the music is awash in interference
The truth is that I’m an impatient zero
With room for superjacent weirdos
And I need friends in my elusive box, just
Straight solitude and intrusive thoughts nonlucid, lost,
And at the worst I’ll be waking my neighbors
At best if I work I’ll be replacing Replacer
Embraced by the Vapors, and if I died today
No one would ever figure out what I’d tried to say
And I’m not special enough for it to matter but
If necessity’s the mother then the truth is just a bastard son

And as I stand shouting my insipid pablum
It’s sprouting I’m staring it’s real big I back up
And watch as it flowers, I wonder if it isn’t real
From my standing vantage seems the plant could be the Yggdrasil
Suddenly my house reeks of garbage
And I see a branch where a heart shaped peach had started
Then went black, shriveled up, turned bleak and hardened
But it’s there, I step up closer to the tree and slowly reach my arm out