The most important part of the bullet... is the space inside. Listen. I am the final product of perpetual subtraction, (yeah) The ghost in the equation, a pivotal redaction. I walk through walls of memory, a spectral chain reaction, My only satisfaction is your baffled interaction. I'm a venomous, nebulous epistle that'll whistle through your gristle, a rhetorical dismissal, My whole history's a mystery wrapped in a brittle, bitter crystal. My purpose is a portrait painted purely in reversal, A product of dispersal, at a one-man rehearsal. I'm the king of this wasteland! (...or just a prisoner?) The architect of shadows, a sinister visitor. I built this empty empire from the things I threw away... And I'm the only one who's forced to fucking stay! I'm the hollow point persona, a semi-colon coma, A captivating vacancy, a volatile aroma. I'm the impact, then the fracture, I'm the chapter that you skip, The phantom on your tongue from a word you didn't let slip. (that's me) I'm the crack in the foundation, a spirit of negation, A final declaration of your own annihilation. The tectonic plate that shifts and shakes the ground, The final, fatal, deafening, resounding sound! I move without a motive, my inertia is my guide, I'm the place where all your confidence and arrogance collide. I'm the low-frequency hum that you can feel deep down inside, The chilling, sudden feeling that you've got nowhere to hide. (I see you) My methodology's a mockery of modern psychology, an oddity, an odyssey of flawed cosmology. I'm a walking, talking paradox, I'm chalk around the body that they forgot to wash off. I speak in apocrypha, my gospel is a glitch, The only difference between a throne and a ditch... is the story that you pitch. So I buried my own story, left the pages blank and white, And became the chilling darkness that illuminates the - wait - light. I'm the hollow point persona, a semi-colon coma, A captivating vacancy, a volatile aroma. I'm the impact, then the fracture, I'm the chapter that you skip, The phantom on your tongue from a word you didn't let slip. (still me) I'm the crack in the foundation, a spirit of negation, A final declaration of your own annihilation. The tectonic plate that shifts and shakes the ground, The final, fatal, deafening, resounding sound! And maybe... just maybe... this empty space I occupy, Ain't a curse, but the canvas for a different kind of sky. Maybe the missing pieces were just weighing me down, And the heaviest thing you ever wear... is a crown. (think about it) What if the only way to truly be free, Is to be an outline of the man you were supposed to be? So I stand here. A monument to absence. An echo chamber built for one. The perfect, hollow weapon... ...and the war is never done. (c)
