...let me show me your hand (quiet)
let me show you my hand (quiet)

let me show me your hand

let me show you my hand
take a grasp before you land
on that crooked chair that sits beneath your ass my man

here I'll show you my hand
take a grasp before you land
on that crooked chair that sits beneath your ass my man

where all poor down here
no matter which race or color span

I don't recall knowing your father
but I insist call me brother man

fuck racism when we've been placed her to face living
on hells turf with a taste of heaven

drip drop, the rain comes and goes like money
where's the son in your life, funny
I used to walk without a knife but now I hold it so tightly

under dim light as my psyche rusts
from old age it might be the dust
that I forgot to blow away
today I promised I would touch

someone else
someone running from good health
someone who would never phantom being one of them
your one of us

you run fast from cops
you never drop names like dots
you'll kill anyone who takes away
the substance that you puff

your sons life, your music
feel it abuse it, smoke it, never loose it
loose it, flush that money down the drain Edward Munch

this life is too much to handle
too cold to hold
and to empty to rap
and to predictable to sell to old humans

so make room for consuming our doom an 
run before a ton of bricks fills up your bed room moving
far from, a far out place human race fear us now

the day before he screamed was the day before he tried dreaming
pills liquor, weight sets, book plugs, hair nets, fake razor blades
and a name to make his mind cut

love, fear, hidden trust
turn out the lights will all combust
only if you knew the reason why they called us Edward Munch

only if you knew the reason

only if you knew the reason

only if you knew the reason why they called us Edward Munch

feel us now...