83 Shouts - 7,015 Scrobbles
bleed liquid gold and slur speech in a cryptic code
My feet slipping on this twisted road
Only the mystic knows the lone figure in the distance
No bigger than the sum of his inscriptions
Or the extent of his conviction
I sip vitamin enriched liquid diction
And digest fiction for culture
I'm force fed, behold the monster
My head and it connected by bulb
Tryna hold things together like the skins I fold
And take my food for thought with a pinch of salt
Read more about D.I.T.D on Last.fm.
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