The Artist
I weave words I'm a busy little spider
Ooh like a trail of crumbs they lead you to
My perfectly thought out and executed little lie, lie
I'm a wordsmith, I plan every single move I ever make
But I don't sleep, I hardly take a break
I fear that they'll catch on, and look into my eyes
And see lies
It's an art, adding color to sheets of gray
Without a lie, what would an average man display?
I'm an artist, a con-artist, I'm so damn dishonest
I've gone off of the road
I've gone off of the road
I've gone off of the road
(He's gone off of the road)
A thousand pounds has made it hard to breathe
And even harder to believe I swear it's worse than it seems
It's been so long, I've forgotten the things I've said
The way of life has left me on a precipice
I may jump off, the landing could be soft
Or I could fall to my death
I'll probably fall to my death
He's gonna tell a lie
He's gonna tell a lie
He's gonna tell a lie
He's gonna tell a lie
He's gonna do it
Gonna lie again
A lying tongue on one hell of a man
He's gonna do it
Gonna lie again
A liar liar fucking piece of shit man
Writer/s: Dylan Fellows
