44th Floor - Jehst

Yo, nothing makes sense

Everything’s a tangled mess up inside my head

Drug dependent, I’m living on the edge

Hudsucker building, standing on the ledge

Ready to plummet to my death

My girl asking herself «Was it something that I said?»

He never did take criticism well

Official card-carrying citizen of Hell

I built a wall of sound

My citadel repel

And impale

Nobody ever lived to tell the tale

Still I’m feeling like my life’s a major fail

Standing on the platform

Waiting for British Rail

Throw myself on the tracks

Like I do with these raps

Where the drugs at?

A brother gotta relax

It’s like he’s become totally detached

Socially inept

Yet they’re throwing me the snatch

Big fish, he’s supposed to be a catch

Take notice how he chats

Is it poetry?

Perhaps

But

They’re never showing the acknowledgement for that

'Till your image get polished

Keep the policy intact

Talking industry politics with cats

Properly smashed

He’ll probably hit the bottle 'til he’s lashed

Drink driving through life like Brands Hatch

No goals all season

Still he’s man of the match

Crash dummy splattered on the dash

The hooded executioner brandishing the axe

Dust to dust, ashes to ash

Disappear like a dealer selling cabbage on your patch

The parasitic want to cash in on the act

Call the paramedics quick

They can try and bring him back

Before it all fades to black

Lifeless, laid on his back

Can I get an encore, por favor?

Hudsucker building

44th floor

I’m on the 44th floor

Fucked up how I’m feeling

44th floor

Can I get an encore, por favor?

Hudsucker building

44th floor

I’m on the 44th floor

Can’t crack the glass ceiling

44th floor

Falling from the skies

His whole life flashed before his eyes

The many faces of who he loved and despised

Those close enough to see through my disguise

Sentimentality

My demise catalysed

No cat’s eyes

Only oncoming headlights

Back-page obituary

Front-page headline

Got 'em scratching their heads like head lice

Skull about to burst, like my head’s in a vice

No suicide note

So they’re left to surmise

Just a glass half-empty

Except for some ice

And the ashtray

Full of roaches left behind

Now they’re queuing up behind

Like Lemmings in a line

From here all the way to Palestine

Seventy-two virgins waiting in paradise

When I reach the other side

Better to die

Than have all my beliefs undermined

I defy on a front line seeking a divine

Seek and you shall find.

(Flatline!)