A.A.A. AArdvark Corp.
Wine is cheap and so is bread,
His blood and body keeps me fed.
I headed down my grantless track,
A witness without want, though lacks.
In youth I tried sell my soul,
That was the price for fame.
The devil said that my ma was a good woman,
So for the rest of my miserable life the lord has blessed my name.
That which is priceless overcompensates,
And what we inherit we carry for good.
Having two heads is valued by those who want you around.
The impossible can't be reimbursed, but is when you are loved and understood,
And I know god listens.
Your greatest, oldest ancestor fogs the air of his heard
For reality is a bit impaired
When god hangs on your every word.
I cannot buy a new one,
This birthday suit permanently creased,
But when I write, the world is silent.
God grants me peace.
I kissed the earth, licking the dirt off
My lips, planted. What could I express
In ways of wit, and I meant it.
If nothing else, let me witness.
I won't be upset if my participation
Is not wanted. I'm not great.
In a game strife who can fight for life
When your soldier is as weak as water, overweight?
What I witness, I shall pen,
Left without audience but god.
Deep down I crave attention,
But the modern won't often offer to the odd.
Once a little sickness was required,
Some addiction almost expected,
But not adorned in Lowe's big men's section.
If not trim, blonde and blue. Rejection.
I see not to attach myself
To all the torture devices,
Racks and cranks, sweat spanked and stank
From the gym trainer's advices.
If he knew the fibres of my history's tree,
And I could safely confide, He'll see,
In hell, free,
God listens to me.
The fibre, they think is a willing sin
As their teachers have unforgettably told.
Trialled, hung, stoned and diagnosed.
When god inhales, you exhale as your books shut and close.
At least I hold this in my defence.
Who knows, maybe I am no good.
Maybe I do deserve the time of a judge
From where every pointing finger stood.
Leave me to write for my confession
Maybe in my words, even god learns a lesson.
Be it a grandiose lie or a desperate cry,
These works, god is my truest fan.
Every night alone, no welts from stones,
in fact to my violin, a coin, god throws into my pan.
An applaud to strum further chords,
To the voice from the life god gave lends a hand
To the vocals and lyrics of the song
Only the 'I am as I am' can understand.
His blood and body keeps me fed.
I headed down my grantless track,
A witness without want, though lacks.
In youth I tried sell my soul,
That was the price for fame.
The devil said that my ma was a good woman,
So for the rest of my miserable life the lord has blessed my name.
That which is priceless overcompensates,
And what we inherit we carry for good.
Having two heads is valued by those who want you around.
The impossible can't be reimbursed, but is when you are loved and understood,
And I know god listens.
Your greatest, oldest ancestor fogs the air of his heard
For reality is a bit impaired
When god hangs on your every word.
I cannot buy a new one,
This birthday suit permanently creased,
But when I write, the world is silent.
God grants me peace.
I kissed the earth, licking the dirt off
My lips, planted. What could I express
In ways of wit, and I meant it.
If nothing else, let me witness.
I won't be upset if my participation
Is not wanted. I'm not great.
In a game strife who can fight for life
When your soldier is as weak as water, overweight?
What I witness, I shall pen,
Left without audience but god.
Deep down I crave attention,
But the modern won't often offer to the odd.
Once a little sickness was required,
Some addiction almost expected,
But not adorned in Lowe's big men's section.
If not trim, blonde and blue. Rejection.
I see not to attach myself
To all the torture devices,
Racks and cranks, sweat spanked and stank
From the gym trainer's advices.
If he knew the fibres of my history's tree,
And I could safely confide, He'll see,
In hell, free,
God listens to me.
The fibre, they think is a willing sin
As their teachers have unforgettably told.
Trialled, hung, stoned and diagnosed.
When god inhales, you exhale as your books shut and close.
At least I hold this in my defence.
Who knows, maybe I am no good.
Maybe I do deserve the time of a judge
From where every pointing finger stood.
Leave me to write for my confession
Maybe in my words, even god learns a lesson.
Be it a grandiose lie or a desperate cry,
These works, god is my truest fan.
Every night alone, no welts from stones,
in fact to my violin, a coin, god throws into my pan.
An applaud to strum further chords,
To the voice from the life god gave lends a hand
To the vocals and lyrics of the song
Only the 'I am as I am' can understand.