Love note to the whole fuck show

Postmarked from a lighthouse in the blunt smoke

Dear motherfuckers, I′m teetering if you must knowWolf at the door like a bug to the fructose

Niece on the phone saying "Ian, you should visit more"

We could build forts while the pigs court civil war

Miss you, miss you more, see you on the far side

Scuffed shoes, couple new scars in the archive

I'm not here to pull scarves out

Here to pick tumblers under water with his arms bound

From in chains to the heart of "where art thou"

I′m out there down to throw a grapnel at a guard tower

Down to spray piss on a cop car

It's rage in the form of renaissance art

Can't treat it like a job at the stockyard

And feign shock when they turn the block to a pock mark

Stock parts knocking on Mach 1 to Camp Lo

Amped up, eyes glowing unknown pantones

Drive ′til it feels like a Van Gogh

Lest I cheetah me some antelope

Partly cloudy, palpable panic in the troposphere

Wake a giant, poke a bear, we don′t do smoke and mirrors

We do do a med-kit and spare clothes

Leave a motherfucker nowhere close

New super power that I picked up In the frenzy

I could draw a roof on fire from memory

Each and every sketch another bloodletting

In the of wake escalation, and excessive rubbernecking

The champ can't look away

Drink it in, strobe-light, smoke, no life, no lifeguard, sink or swim

Ring around the king of pain, bring acetaminophen

You either see the vision or dinner with demolition men

Boom, flame to the fuse to the barrel

I step into the room, split an arrow with an arrow

The first trick shot is just to show ′em that I dabble

I will not be aiming for the apple

Lately I treat every interaction as a living wake

Thanking people close to me before the photo pixelated

New day, folk down play the game different, changed

And going from being chased to playing chicken

Get your whole road map pac-man'd, black mask

Snack on whatever′s in the dash cam

It's not an ad, hashtag, or a tap dance, patsy

The revolution will not have jazz hands

I know you′re alien to matters of the heart and mind

That shit that make you park the car and scream into the dark of night

Some days I wanna build a rocket to the Kármán line

10, 9, 8, keep your head and arms inside, yeah