you can’t mold me, i take the clay and make a snake / you can’t hold me, i won’t be anything that’s fake / take my life / but don’t take my license to thrill
i wonder why i ever bothered / you can’t see i’ve been plenty fathered / and sometimes i can see straight through your blue eyes / you’re so blind, you can’t see when someone else cries
you just can’t strip away my quirkiness today / i guess it’s not so bad . . .
License to Thrill, Katy Rose
Separate worlds, separate music. Separate.
And this. Oh how I *love* dinner at my house. It’s either stuff like this or being told to shut up. Awesome.
If I raised you, you wouldn’t be so mouthy!
Maybe you should have raised me then.
My mom then stifled a laugh, and he shut up. I won that round.
Father are you listening? (Gotta let him go) / Father are you listening?
I am the bullet.
If I am the son, and I am the right, then how do I rest upon this? / If i am the one that murders the tribe / then how do I kiss the hand I bit?
A wrist is slit so I can mend / How am I supposed to breathe in?
The chamber is full / and I am the gun. / For everything that you’ve ever loved
Erasing the tone in shaping the line / that this is an open market / for any of you individuals / wiling to make bets upon my soul.
A stepping through to the other side / is your own accord / and my own soft shaking.
And you’re loved, loved, loved, loved, loved
And I am alone.
Stepping Through, Resident Hero