Post Cards-Promoe

Head out the door like before pick my things off the floor go on tour after tour with a huge a** 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 a** 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 f**k...) what should i write what the f**k 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 sh*t, 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