Brittle bones. Hanging cold. 'Till every piece of me has died, I can never grow wings to fly. I'm only doing what I want. I'm only singing my own songs. So forget everything, I do it all for music's sake. 'Cause I'm a ticking bomb. We're doing violence to your head. You'll play our songs until we're dead and gone. We are the ones who took the risk. That's why you'll never catch us spinning on the radio. I'm only doing what I want. I'm only writing my own songs. I don't care what they say I'm making art to keep me sane. 'Cause I'm a ticking bomb. North. West. Hesh. Kill 'um. Where is integrity? When will the fakers fade. This craft was meant to edify the world, not degrade it. We do it for the good. We do it for the art. That's why you'll never catch us spinning on the radio. We'll never front or fake. No we're not playing games. This is the magic of the sacred and the profane. We do it for the good. So write my name in gold. That's why you'll never catch us spinning on the radio.
