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• Artiste: Contender
• Titre: Scoundrel
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INCORRECT: avant la mauvaise ligne
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The sins of the son mirror all the father's moves I have his nose, his ears, his eyes, his ability to lie straight faced to you Being chased every day by this burning effigy Stitching one lip to the next, instead of bringing about familial shame Smell of gin and sin, lipstick across your chin In a shade our mother would never wear Trust now lost like youth, fiction eclipsed truth Escapism, my new religion now Birthday party absentee, fifth year abandoning me And the candles burn out deep into a stale cake no one will ever eat Dial tones pierced everything, called me into a nightmare The only one left standing Does silence mean you don't care? Don't kiss goodnight, don't tuck me in, I know where you've been A cheek that forever turns No longer