Тональность: A minor•
Intro 1
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Bm
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Verse 1
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Dm
15 wit one in the head, could did it all
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No friends were called, then I recalled
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Somethin' smeared on the wall
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Close relationships I hated it, we split
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Dated this chick, atheist
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God stained seven but
he played the six
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Dated CO's, left 'em wit bulge
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but said I wasn't respectable
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Little did I know,
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I was the next to go
Drivin', starrin' up at the horizon
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Flyin', windows down,
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blastin' the stereo sound
Pass the carnival,
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the Merry- Go- Round
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Goin' up the mountain,
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to the Indian burial ground
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Nothin' but glowin' eyes on the hounds
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Sounds of howls,
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but turnin' the heads of owls
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Come through the white clouds
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D
Look what I found? The psychic
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D
Am
Verse 2
[Chorus]
Dm
There's nothing like it
Am
There's nothing like it
One of a kind his mind
And there's nothing like it
Verse 3
Dm
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The last days, signs of the time
I'm on some crime, blind by the television
The hell I vision is rivers of fire
Accordin' to the scriptural writings
Dm
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There's no after death
for the spirit inside us
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The afterlife is those chapters we write
All great place a peace,
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not that lake full of heat
Dm
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Could you imagine listenin' to
a seven headed dragon?
Grabbin',
madmen chewin' their heads off
Em
Less talk, while the
G
communist is stabbin'
Am
Now I think those were metaphors
D
and the letters of Paul
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Greece and Rome had Olympics,
naked gymnasts
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For instance, he would say it,
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if it related
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The race is not given to the swift
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Dm
But, to them that endure,
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put on the whole armor
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We wrestle not against flesh and blood
He was watchin' the Olympic
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Games through a prison wall
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So the dragon heads
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were their empires
Led every word of God be true
Bm
and every men the liar
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Interlude 1
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Verse 4
Dm
listeners to my prisoners
Faug
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Doin' time on my rhymes
G
Soon as I hit the pen they get
Em
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to my channels
Dm
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Stimulatin' the brain cells
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Trained to use well,
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while writin' I ask myself
Dm
How long is the sentence?
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Not until each line is finished
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Usually the bars end a
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little past the margin
Tho the court in my thoughts
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The DA is the clean page; the
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judge is a ink spot
Dm
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Right where I think plots
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Below the thinkers is the hung jury
It comes to me, truly
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What makes me write this?
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The feelin' inside
Verse 5
Outro 1
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