Sage Francis - Personal Journalist Lyrics
(spoken)Sage Francis...Personal Journalist, 1968 to 2001(Verse 1)He left with deep breaths in each chest that needs less innovating Causethere still debating over what rhyme skill isSick of waiting for time killers to get over there murder rapsAnd then he sold his own shirt off his back for cheap exposureSeek for closure but stayed open mindedAlways seemed to keep composure, peeking over both his eyelidsSpeaking vulgar in misleading cultures of ultra violenceTeaching others how to be more loving with brotherly guidanceA bleeding soldier knows the scienceHe does the math quick and writes without having to think twiceWithout asking for advice, letting the scalps peelHaving brains picked by head lice before the scabs healHis death mask conceals his face paintIt feels like a safe place, but it ain'tFeels like its safety seals faith, but it don'tHe's not a real saint, just another one of those religious political jokesAnd that's not even half of the nutshellCats are compelled to crack open and extract his blood cellsFrom, when he comes back from hell againHe'll have a few bones to pick with a fractured skeleton(over scratching)Sage Francis...anti-socialite...secret admirerStudent loaner...continental drifter...professional day lifterSpin doctor...self-referentialist...personal journalist(bridge)Word, its the worthless wordsmithsWe're conversing with impersonal twistsHeard the concern with making the Earth shipThese kid games are sillyWhen all art is signed anonymousHe'll turn that big bang theory into a small pop hypothesis(spoken)Sage Francis...death merchant...1968 to 2001Devoted son, father to none
