Motion Lines - Busdriver

Stand, pause, turn, turn

Stand, pause, turn, turn

Stand, pause, turn, turn

Stand, pause, turn, turn

I’m gone

After you said what you did

There ain’t no way I’m coming back

Spill the wine

Return the gifts

I’m out of here

(Let me explain)

(Let me explain)

I don’t want to ruin your ball-gown

Because I’m not feeling law-bound

You can probably coffee-grind by body-mind into a psychotropic compound

An ice age will thaw before I’m able to play ball

Your cryptic texts aren’t state law

Yet read like an algebraic scroll

But I know you’re gone

After that gut wrenching shout match

And my out of whack palm read, got me on leave

In this outback with some lounge act

But don’t crossbreed with my ennui it’s a mousetrap

For the besmirched and weakened

I’m like a jerkhead telling you to twerk for the church of England

My advice stay so socratic, don’t panic if I’m looking like a dope addict

Because I’m depressed as shit

Knowing that my capricious lover is a migrant bird

Your absence caused quiet stirs

That progressed into a violent dirge

Of victim blaming and miscellaneous quips to prove that my discourse’s boyish

I had my heart explained to me

I was drawn to quarters by hoarse voices

But you forgot to listen to me when I said

I’m impossible to love and cannot keep an open mind

So you left me where I was

Shredded in your motion lines

We never touched on it, touched on it

What we left

To be in love and treated love like a brush with death

We never touched on it

This shit is depressing, man.

Get over it

Slice at the knuckle where the mind bends

And I become a motherfucker fucker times ten

Crisis all look enormous when your body suffers a sugar shortage

I’ll cook a swordfish or prep any gourmet platter to stimulate your gray matter

Girl, this rap shit left me worse for wear

And I ain’t got that perfect hair, my love feels like a cervix tear

But you kissed me by my desk light

Cause you’re looking like my next wife

Cause you’re looking like my next wife

Cause you’re looking like my next wife

I’m here burning midnight oil

Soaking gravitas into cotton swabs

In return I get tight coils of human waste as toothpaste

Oh I get it, I’m old news, a motherfucking brontosaurus

And to think that I invited you to my underwater forest

A thousand fuck-you's sprung-loaded in a balled up fist

I open my palms and my eyelids become two devolved pussy lips

And I deserve it