This is one of my favorite songs. https://fnfgo.io
i'm not who, with my eyes from stage, i claim to be,
i've only cradled death in my own ending,
flesh from far off and abstracted lit
candle wick flickering
and when a thing starts finishing around me,
i faint or fake a moustache, an accent, or flee,
in fear my expired license be pulled by sheer proximity
fact: the poseur in the bowler gets shot first,
thinks he's the shit cause he can spit and curse,
actin' brash and flashin' a pistol that squirts,
scowling, and shouting, "shall we dance?"
should our heroes hands be holding this blackest purse?
mom, am i failing or worse?
mom, am i failing?
what should these earnest hands be holding?
still sportin' my ex-girlfriend's dead ex-boyfriend's boxers,
i wanna operate from a base of hunger,
no longer be ashamed and hide my
tears in shower water while i lather for pleasure
i wanna speak at an intimate decibel
with the precision of an infinite decimal,
to listen up and send back a true echo
of something forever felt but never heard
i want that sharpened steel of truth in every word
the small fry in the bow tie dies first,
acting wild like the spirit of god moving after church,
faking he's hard like he's packed down dirt,
already, and yelling, "be my guest"
should our heroes hands be holding this blackest purse?
mom, am i failing or worse?
mom, am i failing?
what should these earnest hands be holding?
should our heroes hands be holding this blackest purse?
mom, am i failing or worse?
mom, am i failing?
what should these earnest hands be holding?
i've only cradled death in my own ending,
flesh from far off and abstracted lit
candle wick flickering
and when a thing starts finishing around me,
i faint or fake a moustache, an accent, or flee,
in fear my expired license be pulled by sheer proximity
fact: the poseur in the bowler gets shot first,
thinks he's the shit cause he can spit and curse,
actin' brash and flashin' a pistol that squirts,
scowling, and shouting, "shall we dance?"
should our heroes hands be holding this blackest purse?
mom, am i failing or worse?
mom, am i failing?
what should these earnest hands be holding?
still sportin' my ex-girlfriend's dead ex-boyfriend's boxers,
i wanna operate from a base of hunger,
no longer be ashamed and hide my
tears in shower water while i lather for pleasure
i wanna speak at an intimate decibel
with the precision of an infinite decimal,
to listen up and send back a true echo
of something forever felt but never heard
i want that sharpened steel of truth in every word
the small fry in the bow tie dies first,
acting wild like the spirit of god moving after church,
faking he's hard like he's packed down dirt,
already, and yelling, "be my guest"
should our heroes hands be holding this blackest purse?
mom, am i failing or worse?
mom, am i failing?
what should these earnest hands be holding?
should our heroes hands be holding this blackest purse?
mom, am i failing or worse?
mom, am i failing?
what should these earnest hands be holding?
Lyrics submitted by shitscold
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I think this song is a reaction to the previous songs of the album. The whole album dealing with death. The song previous to this is "Berkley by Hearseback" where Yoni pictures himself already dead being "Hearseback". This song is a step away from the story to ponder, what it means to write song about being dead. "Our heroes hands holding this blackest purse" aka Yoni being dead. It also a lot about how the songs he sings makes him perceived to be in contrast with who he actually to who he is hence the lines about "the poser" and "the small fry". Basically this song is a critique of his own music in contrast to himself. His character in his songs vs the actual author.