Float

im pretty positive that he says 'i paint a portrait of myself CALLED life inside the tortoise shell'

this is the lyrical version that is included in the living human curiosity sideshow, the lyrics booklet that aesop released with "fast cars ..."

so i heard y'all wanna float. yo, this fallen angel could stitch a wing with a shoestring; the prime directive selects reflective aviation bathed in mood swing. i'm broke. i know a walking corpse who'd spit icicle dagger to slit throat quicker than you can prove there's four letters in hope. h...o...p...e. i paint a portrait from my cell called life inside the tortoise shell, tortured, orbiting hell's orchard, intrigued but not compelled. i smell a hint of charred child flesh sweeping through my quarters, order one canteen of liquid caffeine and eclipse the slaughter. now is you is the villain of my kabuki hologram, cuz i hobble with hollow hands; please pan the nozzle. we see intent to reinvent dream application with homage to ancients but honor modern replacements circling now basics. fresh. i'm bilbo baggins with stilts tipping the petri dish, beached fish on the shores where the feast of wits eats the corpse. divvy the servings and study the traits that deemed killer breed credible; now that's a harp of a different color, yeah, but the song remains identical. i am not a crook. i cook the wick at both ends just to blend that element of chance with my tightrope dance. life, sight beyond. fire ant with hunger pain gut be gone. belong to something civil, saint, cuz this rembrandt paints on. and it's a cold canvas lodged in the gut of atlantis. some present impressive lung, some truly learn what a death chant is. i alone personify mankind's collective sulk as the result of one angry zeus fist blistering cult pulp in bulk. face it, die. place it on the shelf next to the portrait mommy gave you of the day it rained but y'all posed by the slave ship anyway. how sweet. make it rain 'til the levy breaks. my fetus breeds as a combine of father time and his sweetest concubine, wine. and it saddens me like televised casualties. i'll be hung in the village square in exactly five minutes; you don't wanna miss it. as a token of my discontent regarding the equation, i'm officially closed for consultation. i float. while everyone around me's busy drowning, i float.