Freeware ft. Million Sunday Lyrics

Don't call me freeware

I'm an unfinished prototype of sleepless nights

I'm a sculptor of my grief and spite until it's nice

And yeah I stick a UPC on that, I'm still not beyond that

20,000 hours in the lab they wanna feed on that

This ain't open verse, everybody rehearse

Go and get that Wal-Mart corded mic recorded all distorted

Like anybody who was born before the towers fell tried to tell their first little sordid stories

I'm moving faster than y'all can capture and print

You think you got your bag, you got a snapshot of a glimpse

Your compressor's distressed, EQ in a mess

Waveforms look like you passin lie detector tests

That's flattery, my words decaying matter for the worms

By the time it reach the soil it's only the basic terms

And someday yes i will be on the menu

Till then I'll just continue, to spread my wings and reach above the venue

Seek your sound

I think about how when I'm making something, it feels like I'm working at the highest level that I could ever hope for

But give it six months, a year

I can always find things I would do differently now

And I get how that might feel discouraging

But I really need that

That's how I know I'm growing, you know

And I hope I listen to this a year from now and feel the same way