Head In The Clouds (Feat. Bruklor)
Head In The Clouds
I walk into the examination centre, I’m late. Naturally, the
congregation look up at me. I don’t look to them, I walk
straight to my seat; solemnly, quietly. The examiner gives
me the paper, and the answer book, and we begin.
***
Staring straight at the paper; my attention tapers, my mind’s blank
That’s when my heart sank; there’s a weakness in my shanks –
The cogs and cranks in my head, grinding, this oblivion, is arcane
Feeling like everything is waning; I flutter away, like an archangel
I could not bare, the glare of the teacher’s eyes,
Bearing down on me – before me, my ugly spirit has been baptized
I feel I’m drifting on clouds, from whence does this feeling arise?
Surmise what you will, sorority played not a part in my demise
I feel I’m the kind to get my head stuck, in stranger skies
Blankness is the music my mind replays, and reprises
I punish myself mentally, because I need to be chastised,
World-weariness is the patent force, of nature’s whim
I’ve got to nurture myself, into consciousness, like now or later
Come back to reality! My parents; what will I say to them?
Once I'd sat myself, in that chair ..
.. It’s as if my brain cell’s have been denatured
But all I really need to do, is set this pen to this piece of paper
I wander aimlessly inward, as the clock ticks down...
Walk onto campus, cocky and arrogant.
Apparent failure. Pants full of balls,
backpack full of music and beer.
Indecision to exactly which division this even is?
Parallax of attitude. Guess I should have listened
Studying would possibly be a wise investment
Instead of drinking at that bloody delicatessen
A smart idea would have been to pay attention
And not buy rounds for those two blessed twins
Known for being drunk on the campus ground
Nicknamed the regular Delta-Booze-Hound
Everyone I know I’ve at least felt up
Turning into your friendly neighborhood slut
Haven’t held a stick of graphite for a month
Looking at a piece of paper illuminates rust
And as more collects, here brink’s collapse
Only building is a memory of drinking contacts
I’m drunk, so fuck it, I’ll finish this paper…
… Much, much later.
.
