He is trapped
Trapped by himself and the point-click
Draw by the 5'5" with blue eyes
Doing things that mama ain't proud of
Media samples of so-called humanity
Making money off of sin and emotion
His dirty little secret
Does it make him feel like a man?
Watching her
Help you out, that way
No sir. I don't think I can stand here
And let you die this death
In front of your LCD, like it's okay
Take your hand off of the stumbling block, my friend
No more point-click for now
On this tiny little street you would've never thought so
But his mind was in the gutter
Bathing in lust- like it was a sweet fragrance
Not seeing the poisonous fruit that really lies there
It's laughing at you
To your face
The key strokes hear you slowly dying
And nothing can be better for you
Than to say "no more"
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