Napoleon - Race The Sun

It’s your game

you have managed to grab everyone’s attention

the spotlight scorching your flesh

caught between the pedestal and ceiling

I can’t just stand there to watch it as it raises

soon it will crush you entirely

and you know I would pull every arm and leg

from socket of my own to just reach you

and with all my force and weight I’d tip you over

because I know you would land feet first

I’d Expect your glare

Oh how my hand shakes from satisfaction

this ink I drain dries like the salt on your wound

don’t forget to buy them out

burn the, burn the confession box

don’t forget to win their hearts

and level the chapel

Sweet irony, sarcasm always had its plague upon me

can we humor this just for now?

caught between the salted wound and punchline

funnier then than now

I’ve always, how I’ve missed it

this value called value

Oh how my hand shakes from satisfaction

this ink I drain dries like the salt on your wound

at this my voice is dry

as you dissect my words

and the knots that form

may you press them against your worth

don’t forget to buy them out

burn the, burn the confession box

don’t forget to win their hearts

and level the chapel

This is when politics turns to gossip