Pull Faces (Crate Digger’s Epilogue)

[Verse: Conor]

Take the hope in which you wish to be basic
Take the truth in which your world still has a basis
Take both and realign them in their placements
Make both so that they lie on a line that isn’t stasis
Incriminated,- to myself by my health
Just words to the self
Steady searching the shelf
Of all the cassette tapes these fuckers deserted
You uttered he blurted, said these shits is worthless
Could see he was nervous, they had a new purpose
My urges, to loop them and turn them to verses,-
We recycle, no need to be frightful
Could see he was spiteful
Said “this work is vital”
He was acting entitled
Origins a recital
Of what the divine set inline past time
Way past prime, or any sense you incline
The shell is where you dwell, that viewpoint isnt mine
Stated its all design, -
Said that its a paradigm
And there in line, is the flaw of another kind
Told me my mindstate was complacent
Which i responded no,-
Its from the ancients
To which he said so
Why don’t you get complicated
I said to grow
That terms your amalgamation
Keep it on the low
But after I was jaded
I know mine is one of those few cases
To this you may ask what is my basis
I can see us go through phases
In which the true self can't pull faces

[Hook: Conor]

In which the true self can't pull faces yo
In which the true self can't pull faces yo
In which the true self
In which the true self

Yo, we break down
Don’t advance it we break down
Take each sound
And rearrange them to astound

We break down
Don’t advance it we break down
Take each sound
And rearrange them to astound