Hook:
Please don't pray for any layer of me-hello can you hear me
I'm not a soothsayer all I have are pleas-hello can you hear me
And pleading for a pardon's even harder for me-hello can you hear me
And it seems misleading has become a part of me-hello can you hear me


1st Verse

I'm perched upon a perch that's composed out of earth
I search to unearth curse verse after verse
unsure of its worth but sure I want it first
To insure it's not worse than my current course of action

Passion and ambition all converge in Fictitious
No division in the vision as long as the people listen
For too many nights I have stared at this screen
As a mime giving voice to a silent scream

I wish I was religious cause then I could just confess
Forget my surroundings I'm a product of stress
I'm blessed to have support for every layer of me
From my wife to my fam to the H.O.E.

2nd Verse

I'm partial to parcels adorned with partial postage
Impartial to the marshal and his cart full of motives
the darkness of the marsh will tarnish the votives
the voters chain smokers stock brokers and homeless

Layer after layer false prayers and cancer
the traitors hurled darts at my back for the answers
Taskmasters, whack rappers and actors
who couldn't capture even a fraction of the fractures

No factors or components in the hands of opponents
Bone to skin consists of sin and I don't condone it
I just acknowledge it make the decision to own it
and bear it upon my shoulders as a form of atonement

Find an idle stone it while you're wild and cogent
Each moment's potent amplified by the potion
Emotions shouldn't influence any proponent
but they do, shattering the hopes that I'm holding

3rd Verse

I'm deaf in one ear but I'm not blind period
Periodically imperial for a period
Meaningful hearings sadly aren't perennial
Could you hear me if I was more than terrestrial

Vestal confessions make impressions venereal
Carefully carrying heartfelt material
I'm a variable with no heart to feel
No spark to steal yo start the reel yo

and reel in reality so we can stop reeling
from the surface to the ceiling I'm still hurting from feeling
chronically flirting with the dealings of death
biologically faulty epitome of a guess

A guest in this flesh and a pest of a ghost
Incubator for the disease for whom I play host
the layers of me or liars for crones
but do I exist-nope