Youngtreasure - Movie lyrics

My over sumptuous entertainment, I paid out myself. In a vague hope a hardworking ethereal stranger, will impose something new on me. Equip on me, their indignant to be a gate way, to escape myself. In the f*cking, unaccounted. That I seek it, that which bestows an obviousness, of unhealed. Wanting to numb the f*ck out of my body of existence, that stingers at too much of my worthlessness. To want to feel ever second, in working cells. So let me die, in a f*cking movie that doesn't make me feel, but that which is it's own hell. Acknowledging, mine. I come down, it turns off, and I'm not myself anymore. I sit back by buffered cushions and let this exorbitant exhibition, take apparition. Onto it's innovation, to f*cking a blossoming nuances over me, I might give a sh*t about. Doth! is this, "yes." A high price tag, disturbs me openly in a bomb's black, snorting lines of digital tweaks. Incessantly finding myself, getting sh*t faced bored of the scripted skies vista. A scene held to no impending notion of thought made bigger than I, but actually smaller. To bestow itself publicly ignorant, to it service of hail. Becoming a puppet, in demonstration of behavior, that aims to honor held to stand in sums that don't know how to live up to an image, trying to convey. When the intent to go about it was completely dishonest, only to thyself. As it comes through, as we all share by that which is held. To I, miming defrayal-ed angst. Sometimes I adopt this sh*t into my own bearings, but don't always catch on to how bad it rots. A real weigh in me to credit, in the idea behind its care. I cannot run with it casually. The intent off the profit exceeding, what it never lived up to, it finish. That is deserved to us, in service of it pay. An idea bigger than itself, but wasn't capable. So that is why, I dispute it making a great profit financially. To it bankrupts the essence of a soul. Buying into, what it could not, or would not, give back, but in itself, cheapened us, by never acknowledging it's system, of what it carries in us. Believing in the lie, that carried over, and it's motion lives as very decaying measure to feed by, give by. When doesn't off, its word, it held by, back. As it doesn't seem that important, but what is felt, adds. Of course the neglect, by our own system can be healed, but when the pace is elastic, that stretches away from it's own honest. It will snaps, and it is snapping, I can feel it in my main stream bones. Full raped of a moving a**ociation to time and candor. Tearing all forms of possible meaning, to cartoon-es frivolous limp of wild action. Miles off with my head, "Tear it off," I stare dead with it. Thus, in founding myself restructuring the appointed formulas in my mind. Hundred of one dollar bill shifts that spread, of small arches dispensing, here es thee, off there. Along the perspective sensibilities of all truest, be a director's attentional a fiat. Like, where is they going? What are they trying to ultimately say? Infringed to ample definition yet undisclosed, innately in thy heart. t'was meant still, my raign an ultimatum. Under the belly throbbing away in pique. Unspoken marriages in voice overs, taps turn to mediate the base up, of sharpen appease to words. Extending scenes with silenced heightening, in sweats of s** in purgatory. Not scene, but coming, to scores of music, in to the exception of a dream. Spotted to appear off. For the motivation should start first inside, and come out upon it's certainties of on, to off pressures. Painting an image of a nightmares that cries in a heart's slurred a**essment, too f*cked up. Through the slow action of taking off my clothes, in bare cold of all consume, that will exhume for real, but count off of certain pieces. Greatest basements to of off live, with subtle action I magnify, that hide beauty in a ghosts k**ing itself to d**h, to the real misery, of what pretends. Overblown, loud actions, carried nothing on me, but hold a great anoint. Of skewed respect, so I left off the screen, to what I am, to not what that kind of respect. My demand for this grew into itself, after the repetitive blows between s**, of no substance ,began rubbing my back. A joke in my minds idea of, of why even watch and listen, along its sighing caliber. As if I was to someday do this myself. That joke within me, made to where it's interned. As I laugh, for myself, to another's idea of honor, that just is a title, that lives by no action. Seeing me, as I would be, so darkly hated from the depths of my own nice malice. Of what was real candor, unshackled to the terms of sentience. Ignored beauties to all discernment of why. That scared you into spending your time hating me for years, and possibly not knowing why. Or not put a breath in my own elude, as I must gleam a reeve of being, full on delusional, character. That direct myself, to seeing the realm of a good movie, to the set of a mind's eye. To pa**ionately hating me, along a moving way, and maybe not know why. While I hold my popcorn in, "that's hot," with the sensation of my own A larg Pepsi sizzled with my s**, of a diet, "that's cold." Projecting front of me, my own bailiwick concede, to taunt it. Beginning to start on me, readily.