Lupe Fiasco - Little Death Lyrics
[Verse 1: Lupe Fiasco]Now bring it outLike a finger in the back of your mouthCherubs and cerebellum, Tara at Sarah's weddingSam marrying SamBand pushed upon the finger of Sam's hairiest handIf that sickens you, you a bigotIf it doesn't well you're wickedSuch is lifeOdd as Egg McMuffins at nightNo answers, so let us watch these dancersStructure reformed gracefully being bornOn the pallet of dark greys, concaves and spiralsKaleidoscope into a EiffelIt ripples then it tidalsVacillates then it viralsBabylons then it Bibles and othersAnd tell me of the spinning mothersAnd today's mathematics for belovedAnd beasts' bellies covered like the cummerbunds of butlers...[Hook 1: Nikki Jean]How was your day, can I make what you sayWhat I wanna hear, cause I want you hereThe hell that we raised to the heavens do anything forLa petite mort, la petite mort[Verse 2: Lupe Fiasco]They keep the bottles just to make glass housesThen climb up to the second floors and throw rocks out itThen expect not a volley in replySome place vulnerable like prolly in the eyeWhat of the chicken? what is it missin', is it dry?Did it die in some inhumane conditions so it didn't go relaxedAnd attention from its demise pulled all of the flavour from the fatAnd made it flat and rather lifelessWell there's a place that has a stunning turbotAnd more mercifully murdered PiscesBut barbaric are still the pricesIt's rather niceless, apricot in dices and fromage slicesMy son will call risotto ricesIf and when he's left to his own devices, wellHow is your memory?Is it returning like a lemon treeTo bear bitter fruit of what you meant to meOr was it slippin' like permission am I trippin' like PhilI feel I'm grippin' but maybe the transmissionStill left out the life, also left out the will, griefWill cheese never touch your teethMaybe like kosher beefIs it real, is it real, is it realHa, hah![Hook 2: Nikki Jean]Howl at the day can I make you my preyCause I want you dear, ooh, I want you dearThe hell that we raised to the heavens make symmetries/cemetaries forOur petite mort, our petite mort[Verse 3: Lupe Fiasco]So glad you're back, but not glad at that you're [?]Where is the glamour in collapse?Where in the shatter of the facts shoves one back to a pattern of stab woundsSwoon ridden goons consumed and driven mad soonThe attended years slowly fills with baboonsThat other monkey businessWhere killers go free cause a junkie's a funky witnessRunny mascaras from the cunning mask wearers of deathBygone errors, sittin' like two oil derricksSeparated by a sea of cooling num numsReminiscing of an every day playing hum drumWhere recognition went unnoticedAnd then solidified till it was stoicWe should've been poetsSomewhere between amateurs and grandmasters of iambic pentameter[Hook 3: Nikki Jean]How are your chains, do they make you behaveKeep you over here, by your overseerFallen from grace down from heaven to memories floorLa petite mort, la petite mort
