A grip tight as homies at the wrong end of a gun
Tied up like a preacher with his zipper undone
I can't promise but I'll bet you ten-to-one
That you've seen this coming for years
A dusty old couch with a dog, nothing much
A face with two eyes and some skin I can touch
But one of these days I'll be popping the clutch
And driving the hell out of here
Who are you waiting for?
Somebody
Help me out of this, I can't resist, the list of cons is conjured from a list
Of disambiguation, insinuations of creations of a mind on medication
Blind from radiation; told the side effects were worth it
Told to bend the truth and work it
Told about most everything and then a little more than she could store
Who are you waiting for?
Abracadabra, Alakadamn
With a twist of a sadistic wrist I vanish into the mist
Fist clenched around a worn-out fedora as Laura lingers
In the smokey spaces between the synapse
Like bear traps set a step apart and I lack the art of coordination
But condemnation is my medium; communication is key
Words like brushstrokes between you and me
A canvas stretched out for years and gessoed with tears and spittle
A riddle personified, it sized us up and whispered
"Gotcha"
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