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lirik lagu dear machine. hate, the cog – chonny jash

[intro]
“they say that time heals all things
they say you can always forget
but the smiles and the tears across the years
they twist my heartstrings yet…”

“she’s beautiful.”

[verse 1]
i hit a crossroads recently, when i had my first royalties pay
four thousand dollars for the month of march, paid out in the month
of may
and as i reached it, i remembered. i heard the voices of my friends, my parents, my teachers say:
“enjoy the fun while it lasts. you’ll have to get on the treadmill one day.”

[verse2]
and yes, i know. i get it. that is just the world in which we live
the amount we receive in return rarely justifies what we give
but for the first time, maybe ever, i see a path i want to walk
a path on which i can prove to myself that i’m not all talk

[chorus]
oranges and lemons, say the bells of st. clement’s
one day you’ll start walking and you won’t stop till mourning

[verse 3]
i’ll admit it, i’m f*cking scared. it’s a fickle game to play
the scope just keeps tightening on what i do, and what i think, and what i say
but for every fear that i have, two more dreams come to settle its score
now all i need to do is step through that door
[verse 4]
so i’ve taken two weeks off, with no intention of going back
but as i did, i felt the gold in my eyes start fading down to black
i think it’s doubt? or shame? maybe guilt? or a combination of it all?
why is it that once i’m finally on*course, i get the overwhelming urge to stall?

[chorus]
oranges and lemons, say the bells of st. clement’s
you owe me five farthings, say the bells of st. martin’s
when will you pay me? say the bells of st. bailey’s
when time runs its course, says the voice of remorse

[post*chorus]
“but god knows you’ll fail and end up fleeing with tucked tail.”
the black behind my eyes makes its way to my stomach, as the pit begins its wail
here comes a candle to light you to bed
and here comes a chopper to chop off your head!

[bridge]
“but i am not done yet.”
“you know perfectly well what is the matter with you.”
“just a footnote in everyone else’s psyche.”
“you are mentally deranged.”
“sick of being the mean.”

“how many fingers am i holding up, winston?”
“four.”
“no. how many fingers, please?”
“four… four! what else could i say?”
“room 101.”

[verse 5]
under the spreading chestnut tree. there we sit, both you and me
rooted underneath this old machine
the chestnut toils. the chestnut breathes
the chestnut quiets. the system groans
the chestnut, tired, heads back on home
too weary to think. time, too limited to try
the chestnut repeats till it dies

[verse 6]
but perhaps with enough time, and strength, and luck, and zeal
i might just prove that a chestnut can be free
a life spent writing rhymes and expressing the things i feel
sounds pretty d*mn appealing to me
each tick of the metronome, each chime, each beat, each chord, each spiel
is but one further disconnection from this tree
so it may k!ll me in the process to do this full*time, but without, i may never heal
i may yet die poor
but i will die me
please
please
please
please
[verse 7]
please forgive me for being vain
but there’s so much more that i want to say
this pit that’s been growing inside is leading me astray
it may not last and as time flows past, i may just regret this trade
but i offer you my resignation
and i offer to them this tirade

[verse 8]
so f*ck you
oh, i quit
i never opted in to this game
so no. f*ck you. i forfeit
i’ll die as i am – a weak, small man – before i surrender to your abyss
i may well yet crash and burn
but for now just let me have this

[outro]
“they can torture you. they can make you say anything. but they can’t make you believe it. they can’t get inside you

they can’t get to your heart.”

- chonny jash

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