This Lonely Rose - ATMOSPHERE, Aesop Rock, Blueprint

I parked on a vacant road

To get away from people and watch the planes approach

Turn the music down, put the windows low

Turn the headlights off, but let the dashboard glow

I try not to reminisce

'Cause many of these memories ain’t got no kind of benefits

It’s the same old lick, you can paint the bricks

But your face is just a way to decorate your shit

I’m the motherfuckin' man when I’m standing in it

'Cause I don’t know how to swim, but I project the image

That I’mma go all in, got it under control

Until I grow my fins I’m still plugging my nose

No surprise, stolen by the tide

You can close your eyes but the hopes stay alive

And the crow gonna fly

And the dope gets sold, n' other than that

There’s really not much to know

Don’t cut this rose

This lonely rose

With thorns to show

It grows alone

Too hard to hold

This lonely rose

With thorns to show

It grows alone

Too hard to hold

Quick to tell you that she don’t need a man

From what I’ve seen I completely understand

Can’t stand a cat that try to make demands

Plus her man said he sick of bringing beach to the sand

Quickly sinking in the holiest boat

Figured he might as well drink just to keep it afloat

Nope, when small things end up being gigantic

Relationships go the way of the Titanic

Why panic?

Have some fun while it last

Be happy that you even had a spot on the cast

She hard to keep 'cause she know what men about

It just took you too long before you figured it out (Huh)

Moving fast don’t mean it won’t end quick

Why put your toes in when you can skinny dip?

Remember when you’re with the prettiest chick

There’s another man that’s sick of putting up with her shit

This lonely rose

With thorns to show

It grows alone

Too hard to hold

This lonely rose

With thorns to show

It grows alone

Too hard to hold

There is a temperamental magic in the key of love and war

It go «Nothing up his sleeve, not even a fucking arm»

Body ain’t a temple if it’s disassembled parts

Allocated into separate level warps and divorced

Tell tents severing up pell-mell dash melting

Squeegee in his post to a cheesecloth silk screen evenly

East coast tilt kings raised by servals

Pacing up the grape vine nervous

Poke jarred brain matter adequately curious

Pick a perfect patsy, herd ‘em back into the turnip truck

Where a high arch pose as the nobles

Fine yeti fur with a dire prognosis

He prefer to mire with the openly grotesque

Opening a cold discotheque coat check

Oh my low-tech bolt neck, go time, no myth

I’m a slow death goldmine

This lonely rose

With thorns to show

It grows alone

Too hard to hold

This lonely rose

With thorns to show

It grows alone

Too hard to hold

Too hard to hold…