biosolid dream

blackened hands
scraped the earth away
only to find that chick you like
only to find you're not her type
only to fight the creeping dread coming over the hill
don't fret there are other things to hold you still
wash my hands clean
all the shit i've made
hangs from the walls in a biosolid dream

where this dirty face
shines like gold
and nothing ever breaks
and these joints are never cold
and it all works out fine
and my clothes are always worn and clean
and crushes hell beneath
my very own heaven in a biosolid dream