Every night in my room and my head still tilts to the moonEvery night in my room and my head still tilts to the moonEvery night in my room and my head still tilts to the moonI ask God why he still don't like meThe moon still shines on my tomb like nightlyA self portrait from the boy from the D andThat's tattooed right below the naval on my briefsAnd as of late I've been in love with the imageThat I gotta satisfy the only people that I'm missingNow that's fourteen names all stuck in my headAnd that's eight day ones while I still wet the bedAnd that's hardships found only answered by the bottleAnd that's suicide; genocide; allTears still falling while the rhythm keeps flowingAnd her last name now good riddance, she elopingI feel utopia is hereAnd if George Orwell seen it all through the fearAnd if Rembrandt's strokes said the vision seem clearAnd if Africa was life, would the sky seem clear?With the words that I scrawlOnly live through the screen but the tales that I tellOnly dance in your dreamsThe sage still burns 'cause the urn still closeKids doing drugs while the schools sell hopeSell hope, shit, I meant dope, yeah, yeah, yeahEvery night in my room and my head still tilts to the moonEvery night in my room and my head still tilts to the moonEvery night in my room and my head still tilts to the moonEvery night in my room and my head still tilts to the moonTo the moon, uh huh
