Paroles de Philliphius

Painting that shell covered in red You can hear but you want to smell How can you just go over there? You try to say but you spit instead Poor you... Poor you... Oh poor poet You feed of that Oh poor painter You live of that You only have to pick up your pen Shadows and her will appear again You know art is all that you are But you want more, and more you will have Death Dark, wet, and now Die, she won't look back Die, philliphius, crying is alright Crying is alright