Paint a picture, set a scene, it's two-thousand-and-ninteen
Richard, and, the boy's names' Creed, the hands of fate, they touch and reach
Siblings buried, blood, it bleeds
Ashton Richards, memory
Force a model, troubled sleep, takes a time of obsolete
Hitting the bottle, [?] and there's nowhere to go
And there's fans on the force, they don't call, they don't show, go to therapy regularly, seem to plateau
And it's po-po when lo-co, and, woah-so, [?], his mojo, no mono
[?] on yo-yo, and so, the time, it moves slow-mo, you see the—
Case was never closed, 'cause the motif was confusing
Orphan killed his sister, but his sister was removed when
The mother died in childbirth, but dang, [?], life brings
The cycle of samsara, always was, quite amusing
Brother killed his sister, but the record seemed to show
The brother never met his sister, didn't even know
So, the tragedy was a catastrophe, a fate fucked up
Richard's losin' sleep while his whole family's [?] up
