Post Cards - Promoe

Head out the door like before

Pick my things off the floor

Go on tour after tour with a huge ass bag that can’t fitt my love

With a useless bag, man it can’t fit my love

There i go again repeting myself and i’m deciving myself till i belive in myself

That i need something else

Jeopardizing health looking, looking, looking for something

But i really can’t tell what it is, what it was, and again shall be

Maybe it shifted through the years and i’m stuck in the dream that i had as a

teenager rappin ass fiend now with all this stress around me i can’t recognize

me so i

Pick up the phone and a bad connection and a low battery dose little to hide

the thought

That we miles apart and it drives my heart insane trying to start to explain

all in vain byt i’m sayin…

What should i write

Pick up the pen don’t know where to begin it goes…

I miss you

Well it’s true but iy’s lame, ain’t no words to explain

How can i tell you

How much i miss you

Cus the words have been used and abused for so long

They don’t mean nothing, no more to no one and specifically not us

We’re thinking about stuff a little bit too much with our critical outlook

That kind of makes us depressed and when it aches in our chest we’re

desperately lookin, lookin for ways to espress our deepest emotions

But somebody stole 'em sold 'em back to us perverted, distorted

That’s why when i tell you i love you, you can’t hear

I wanna tell you to trust me forever

But i don’t dare cus the words have been used and abused for so long

I can’t relate to their hate

Don’t want it in your song cus

If love is a burger from a fastfood chain

If love is some bling on a fat goldchain

Then the blood must be freezing in my ice cold veins

And what i feel for you must be that thing called hate

(and it’s not, so what the fuck…)

What should i write

What the fuck should i write yo

I miss you

Well it’s true but iy’s lame, ain’t no words to explain

How can i tell you

How much i miss you

Then when i finally come hom after weeks alone

Rhyming on the phone from the studio in gothen and writing little poems on

postcards and pieces of paper from japan and amsterdam

I’m half the man when i greet you

Like we a four legged, two headed creature separated from eachother in a

earlier life

To be complete i must make sure this girl be my wife

And it’s easier said than done

But tis love accident ain’t no hit and rum

I coulda stay right here till the police come

Thoug this ain’t that kind of movie so them fools get none

And it ain’t no hollywood ending either

She’s not a girl with a gucci, prada or fendi fever

It’s real characters of real flech and blood who fight, hurt, make up and shit,

sweat and love

(and miss eachother like hell…)

What should i write

Whit all our imperfect perfections

I miss you

How can i tell you

How much i tell you

How much i miss you