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lirik lagu don’t be impressed – tarrasque

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[verse 1]
there’s something contemplative ’bout the way you send your texts
lying in my bed at 3am just let me rest
i’m worth nothing of your time
so quit with all these threats
i’ve got a box cutter
imprinted with your name
metaphoric violence stemming from my brain
fear arising from the part of me in pain
to this point is all encompasing
roll of silver string, bipolar let me sing
high rolling dice stacked up to the brim

[chorus]
i’m depressed
hollow feeling boring through my chest
nothing left
swallow feelings til i’m feeling nothing less
don’t be impressed
i’m whats left
of a solemn kid who thought he’d do the best
he was misled
hollow feeling boring through my chest
swallow feelings til i’m feeling less
i’m the kid who didn’t do his best
i’m depressed

[verse 2]
there’s something so ironic ’bout the way i send my texts
i put smileys and emotion makes it sound like i’m refreshed
i’m just wasting all my time
sink into my bed
not a single reason now
pillow wet beneath my head
metaphoric violence stemming from my brain
fear arising from the part of me in pain
to this point is all encompasing
roll of silver string, bipolar let me sing
high rolling dice stacked up to the brim

[chorus]
i’m depressed
hollow feeling boring through my chest
nothing left
swallow feelings til i’m feeling nothing less
don’t be impressed
i’m whats left
of a solemn kid who thought he’d do the best
he was misled
hollow feeling boring through my chest
swallow feelings til i’m feeling less
i’m the kid who didn’t do his best
i’m depressed

[verse 3]
this is my anthem
listen closely you could learn a lesson
something close to effervescence
feel it bubble in my person
fiz and pop inside my soul
explosive feelings this is purpose
fill my lungs with hope transferred by writing verses
the black and snarling rope has no reverses left
it’s left this earth it’s left this person
week or two to come will dig my graves and order courses
over courses time of course it’s time to go i’ve no retorts or words for courts cuz awe is bought from sorts of things i can’t produce
not yet atleast i tell myself through clouded eyes
plenty time leftover scream and claw at closing doors
atleast i’m glad my situation couldn’t hurt much more
i tell myself in bed each morning at half past four

[chorus]
i’m depressed
hollow feeling boring through my chest
nothing left
swallow feelings til i’m feeling nothing less
don’t be impressed
i’m whats left
of a solemn kid who thought he’d do the best
he was misled

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