[{"id":40258216,"name":"Losing My Mind (feat. dEnAuN)","trackName":"Losing My Mind (feat. dEnAuN)","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch","albumName":"Pharoahe Monch","duration":198.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"A clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\nSuspended within space and time\nI walk a thin line\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\nI see through walls that's hard to climb\nI'm losing my mind\n\nNo medicaid, no medication\nThinking you're better off dead\nInstead should have been dedicated to education\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder\nWould someone explain who'd leave a dick in charge of a bush\nOf a colon I'm screwed, saw more war than Warsaw Poland, viewed\nAn infant's insides, outside of his body\nInside of a place of worship, ungodly\nOut cries tears \"Dear God, where are we?\"\nThat's what I scream towards the skyline but probably\nNo one can hear a word of what I was saying\nInsurgents surged in the temple where I was praying\nNow flashbacks wake me abruptly when police pass by\nLights flash, if I could only put the past on a flashdrive I'd\nFor peace of mind, install an external drive\nSo I'd be more driven internally to survive I'm...\n\nA clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\n(So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\n(So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n\nMy family customs were not accustomed to dealing with mental health\nIt was more or less an issue for white families with wealth\nVoid, I defected, employed self annoyed\nWent independent, enjoyed stealth\nNow doctors prescribed sedatives and Prozac\nThe rent's cheaper in the ghetto but you can't go back\nSo I, spin the cylinder on my revolver\nThen, maybe let it draw blood like Chupacabra\nAnd dissolve into the abyss, without evolving\nInstead of revolving around the habitual problem solver\nResearch like, George Washington Carver\nBut no answer so my mantra is to deal with it in and chart then\nPart, instead of being incredibly defiant\nPeddle through revenue issues I'll do it for medical science\nIt's better to be level-headed than to regret it and pious\nSettling for life without sun-shine, never vibrant, I'm...\n\nA clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\nSuspended within space and time\nI walk a thin line\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\nI can see through walls it's hard to climb\nI'm losing my- I'm losing my mind","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Losing My Mind (feat. dEnAuN)\n  artist: Pharoahe Monch\n  album: Pharoahe Monch\n  duration_ms: 197808\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  Suspended within space and time\n  I walk a thin line\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  I see through walls that's hard to climb\n  I'm losing my mind\n\n  No medicaid, no medication\n  Thinking you're better off dead\n  Instead should have been dedicated to education\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder\n  Would someone explain who'd leave a dick in charge of a bush\n  Of a colon I'm screwed, saw more war than Warsaw Poland, viewed\n  An infant's insides, outside of his body\n  Inside of a place of worship, ungodly\n  Out cries tears \"Dear God, where are we?\"\n  That's what I scream towards the skyline but probably\n  No one can hear a word of what I was saying\n  Insurgents surged in the temple where I was praying\n  Now flashbacks wake me abruptly when police pass by\n  Lights flash, if I could only put the past on a flashdrive I'd\n  For peace of mind, install an external drive\n  So I'd be more driven internally to survive I'm...\n\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  (So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  (So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n\n  My family customs were not accustomed to dealing with mental health\n  It was more or less an issue for white families with wealth\n  Void, I defected, employed self annoyed\n  Went independent, enjoyed stealth\n  Now doctors prescribed sedatives and Prozac\n  The rent's cheaper in the ghetto but you can't go back\n  So I, spin the cylinder on my revolver\n  Then, maybe let it draw blood like Chupacabra\n  And dissolve into the abyss, without evolving\n  Instead of revolving around the habitual problem solver\n  Research like, George Washington Carver\n  But no answer so my mantra is to deal with it in and chart then\n  Part, instead of being incredibly defiant\n  Peddle through revenue issues I'll do it for medical science\n  It's better to be level-headed than to regret it and pious\n  Settling for life without sun-shine, never vibrant, I'm...\n\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  Suspended within space and time\n  I walk a thin line\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  I can see through walls it's hard to climb\n  I'm losing my- I'm losing my mind\n"},{"id":10231365,"name":"Losing My Mind","trackName":"Losing My Mind","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch","albumName":"PTSD: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder","duration":197.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"A clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\nSuspended within space and time\nI walk a thin line\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\nI see through walls that's hard to climb\nI'm losing my mind\n\nNo medicaid, no medication\nThinking you're better off dead\nInstead should have been dedicated to education\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder\nWould someone explain who'd leave a dick in charge of a bush\nOf a colon I'm screwed, saw more war than Warsaw Poland, viewed\nAn infant's insides, outside of his body\nInside of a place of worship, ungodly\nOut cries tears \"Dear God, where are we?\"\nThat's what I scream towards the skyline but probably\nNo one can hear a word of what I was saying\nInsurgents surged in the temple where I was praying\nNow flashbacks wake me abruptly when police pass by\nLights flash, if I could only put the past on a flashdrive I'd\nFor peace of mind, install an external drive\nSo I'd be more driven internally to survive I'm...\n\nA clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\n(So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\n(So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n\nMy family customs were not accustomed to dealing with mental health\nIt was more or less an issue for white families with wealth\nVoid, I defected, employed self annoyed\nWent independent, enjoyed stealth\nNow doctors prescribed sedatives and Prozac\nThe rent's cheaper in the ghetto but you can't go back\nSo I, spin the cylinder on my revolver\nThen, maybe let it draw blood like Chupacabra\nAnd dissolve into the abyss, without evolving\nInstead of revolving around the habitual problem solver\nResearch like, George Washington Carver\nBut no answer so my mantra is to deal with it in and chart then\nPart, instead of being incredibly defiant\nPeddle through revenue issues I'll do it for medical science\nIt's better to be level-headed than to regret it and pious\nSettling for life without sun-shine, never vibrant, I'm...\n\nA clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\nSuspended within space and time\nI walk a thin line\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\nI can see through walls it's hard to climb\nI'm losing my- I'm losing my mind","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Losing My Mind\n  artist: Pharoahe Monch\n  album: 'PTSD: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder'\n  duration_ms: 197000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  Suspended within space and time\n  I walk a thin line\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  I see through walls that's hard to climb\n  I'm losing my mind\n\n  No medicaid, no medication\n  Thinking you're better off dead\n  Instead should have been dedicated to education\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder\n  Would someone explain who'd leave a dick in charge of a bush\n  Of a colon I'm screwed, saw more war than Warsaw Poland, viewed\n  An infant's insides, outside of his body\n  Inside of a place of worship, ungodly\n  Out cries tears \"Dear God, where are we?\"\n  That's what I scream towards the skyline but probably\n  No one can hear a word of what I was saying\n  Insurgents surged in the temple where I was praying\n  Now flashbacks wake me abruptly when police pass by\n  Lights flash, if I could only put the past on a flashdrive I'd\n  For peace of mind, install an external drive\n  So I'd be more driven internally to survive I'm...\n\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  (So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  (So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n\n  My family customs were not accustomed to dealing with mental health\n  It was more or less an issue for white families with wealth\n  Void, I defected, employed self annoyed\n  Went independent, enjoyed stealth\n  Now doctors prescribed sedatives and Prozac\n  The rent's cheaper in the ghetto but you can't go back\n  So I, spin the cylinder on my revolver\n  Then, maybe let it draw blood like Chupacabra\n  And dissolve into the abyss, without evolving\n  Instead of revolving around the habitual problem solver\n  Research like, George Washington Carver\n  But no answer so my mantra is to deal with it in and chart then\n  Part, instead of being incredibly defiant\n  Peddle through revenue issues I'll do it for medical science\n  It's better to be level-headed than to regret it and pious\n  Settling for life without sun-shine, never vibrant, I'm...\n\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  Suspended within space and time\n  I walk a thin line\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  I can see through walls it's hard to climb\n  I'm losing my- I'm losing my mind\n"},{"id":31445899,"name":"Losing My Mind","trackName":"Losing My Mind","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch, Denaun","albumName":"PTSD - Post Traumatic Stress Disorder","duration":197.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"A clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\nSuspended within space and time\nI walk a thin line\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\nI see through walls that's hard to climb\nI'm losing my mind\n\nNo medicaid, no medication\nThinking you're better off dead\nInstead should have been dedicated to education\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder\nWould someone explain who'd leave a dick in charge of a bush\nOf a colon I'm screwed, saw more war than Warsaw Poland, viewed\nAn infant's insides, outside of his body\nInside of a place of worship, ungodly\nOut cries tears \"Dear God, where are we?\"\nThat's what I scream towards the skyline but probably\nNo one can hear a word of what I was saying\nInsurgents surged in the temple where I was praying\nNow flashbacks wake me abruptly when police pass by\nLights flash, if I could only put the past on a flashdrive I'd\nFor peace of mind, install an external drive\nSo I'd be more driven internally to survive I'm...\n\nA clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\n(So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\n(So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n\nMy family customs were not accustomed to dealing with mental health\nIt was more or less an issue for white families with wealth\nVoid, I defected, employed self annoyed\nWent independent, enjoyed stealth\nNow doctors prescribed sedatives and Prozac\nThe rent's cheaper in the ghetto but you can't go back\nSo I, spin the cylinder on my revolver\nThen, maybe let it draw blood like Chupacabra\nAnd dissolve into the abyss, without evolving\nInstead of revolving around the habitual problem solver\nResearch like, George Washington Carver\nBut no answer so my mantra is to deal with it in and chart then\nPart, instead of being incredibly defiant\nPeddle through revenue issues I'll do it for medical science\nIt's better to be level-headed than to regret it and pious\nSettling for life without sun-shine, never vibrant, I'm...\n\nA clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\nSuspended within space and time\nI walk a thin line\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\nI can see through walls it's hard to climb\nI'm losing my- I'm losing my mind","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Losing My Mind\n  artist: Pharoahe Monch, Denaun\n  album: PTSD - Post Traumatic Stress Disorder\n  duration_ms: 197000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  Suspended within space and time\n  I walk a thin line\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  I see through walls that's hard to climb\n  I'm losing my mind\n\n  No medicaid, no medication\n  Thinking you're better off dead\n  Instead should have been dedicated to education\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder\n  Would someone explain who'd leave a dick in charge of a bush\n  Of a colon I'm screwed, saw more war than Warsaw Poland, viewed\n  An infant's insides, outside of his body\n  Inside of a place of worship, ungodly\n  Out cries tears \"Dear God, where are we?\"\n  That's what I scream towards the skyline but probably\n  No one can hear a word of what I was saying\n  Insurgents surged in the temple where I was praying\n  Now flashbacks wake me abruptly when police pass by\n  Lights flash, if I could only put the past on a flashdrive I'd\n  For peace of mind, install an external drive\n  So I'd be more driven internally to survive I'm...\n\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  (So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  (So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n\n  My family customs were not accustomed to dealing with mental health\n  It was more or less an issue for white families with wealth\n  Void, I defected, employed self annoyed\n  Went independent, enjoyed stealth\n  Now doctors prescribed sedatives and Prozac\n  The rent's cheaper in the ghetto but you can't go back\n  So I, spin the cylinder on my revolver\n  Then, maybe let it draw blood like Chupacabra\n  And dissolve into the abyss, without evolving\n  Instead of revolving around the habitual problem solver\n  Research like, George Washington Carver\n  But no answer so my mantra is to deal with it in and chart then\n  Part, instead of being incredibly defiant\n  Peddle through revenue issues I'll do it for medical science\n  It's better to be level-headed than to regret it and pious\n  Settling for life without sun-shine, never vibrant, I'm...\n\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  Suspended within space and time\n  I walk a thin line\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  I can see through walls it's hard to climb\n  I'm losing my- I'm losing my mind\n"},{"id":21054288,"name":"Losing My Mind (feat. dEnAuN)","trackName":"Losing My Mind (feat. dEnAuN)","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch","albumName":"PTSD - Post Traumatic Stress Disorder","duration":198.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"A clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\nSuspended within space and time\nI walk a thin line\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\nI see through walls that's hard to climb\nI'm losing my mind\n\nNo medicaid, no medication\nThinking you're better off dead\nInstead should have been dedicated to education\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder\nWould someone explain who'd leave a dick in charge of a bush\nOf a colon I'm screwed, saw more war than Warsaw Poland, viewed\nAn infant's insides, outside of his body\nInside of a place of worship, ungodly\nOut cries tears \"Dear God, where are we?\"\nThat's what I scream towards the skyline but probably\nNo one can hear a word of what I was saying\nInsurgents surged in the temple where I was praying\nNow flashbacks wake me abruptly when police pass by\nLights flash, if I could only put the past on a flashdrive I'd\nFor peace of mind, install an external drive\nSo I'd be more driven internally to survive I'm...\n\nA clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\n(So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\n(So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n\nMy family customs were not accustomed to dealing with mental health\nIt was more or less an issue for white families with wealth\nVoid, I defected, employed self annoyed\nWent independent, enjoyed stealth\nNow doctors prescribed sedatives and Prozac\nThe rent's cheaper in the ghetto but you can't go back\nSo I, spin the cylinder on my revolver\nThen, maybe let it draw blood like Chupacabra\nAnd dissolve into the abyss, without evolving\nInstead of revolving around the habitual problem solver\nResearch like, George Washington Carver\nBut no answer so my mantra is to deal with it in and chart then\nPart, instead of being incredibly defiant\nPeddle through revenue issues I'll do it for medical science\nIt's better to be level-headed than to regret it and pious\nSettling for life without sun-shine, never vibrant, I'm...\n\nA clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\nSuspended within space and time\nI walk a thin line\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\nI can see through walls it's hard to climb\nI'm losing my- I'm losing my mind","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Losing My Mind (feat. dEnAuN)\n  artist: Pharoahe Monch\n  album: PTSD - Post Traumatic Stress Disorder\n  duration_ms: 198000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  Suspended within space and time\n  I walk a thin line\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  I see through walls that's hard to climb\n  I'm losing my mind\n\n  No medicaid, no medication\n  Thinking you're better off dead\n  Instead should have been dedicated to education\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder\n  Would someone explain who'd leave a dick in charge of a bush\n  Of a colon I'm screwed, saw more war than Warsaw Poland, viewed\n  An infant's insides, outside of his body\n  Inside of a place of worship, ungodly\n  Out cries tears \"Dear God, where are we?\"\n  That's what I scream towards the skyline but probably\n  No one can hear a word of what I was saying\n  Insurgents surged in the temple where I was praying\n  Now flashbacks wake me abruptly when police pass by\n  Lights flash, if I could only put the past on a flashdrive I'd\n  For peace of mind, install an external drive\n  So I'd be more driven internally to survive I'm...\n\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  (So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  (So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n\n  My family customs were not accustomed to dealing with mental health\n  It was more or less an issue for white families with wealth\n  Void, I defected, employed self annoyed\n  Went independent, enjoyed stealth\n  Now doctors prescribed sedatives and Prozac\n  The rent's cheaper in the ghetto but you can't go back\n  So I, spin the cylinder on my revolver\n  Then, maybe let it draw blood like Chupacabra\n  And dissolve into the abyss, without evolving\n  Instead of revolving around the habitual problem solver\n  Research like, George Washington Carver\n  But no answer so my mantra is to deal with it in and chart then\n  Part, instead of being incredibly defiant\n  Peddle through revenue issues I'll do it for medical science\n  It's better to be level-headed than to regret it and pious\n  Settling for life without sun-shine, never vibrant, I'm...\n\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  Suspended within space and time\n  I walk a thin line\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  I can see through walls it's hard to climb\n  I'm losing my- I'm losing my mind\n"},{"id":15546416,"name":"Losing My Mind (Feat. Denaun)","trackName":"Losing My Mind (Feat. Denaun)","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch","albumName":"P.T.S.D. (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder)","duration":197.773061,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"A clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\nSuspended within space and time\nI walk a thin line\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\nI see through walls that's hard to climb\nI'm losing my mind\n\nNo medicaid, no medication\nThinking you're better off dead\nInstead should have been dedicated to education\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder\nWould someone explain who'd leave a dick in charge of a bush\nOf a colon I'm screwed, saw more war than Warsaw Poland, viewed\nAn infant's insides, outside of his body\nInside of a place of worship, ungodly\nOut cries tears \"Dear God, where are we?\"\nThat's what I scream towards the skyline but probably\nNo one can hear a word of what I was saying\nInsurgents surged in the temple where I was praying\nNow flashbacks wake me abruptly when police pass by\nLights flash, if I could only put the past on a flashdrive I'd\nFor peace of mind, install an external drive\nSo I'd be more driven internally to survive I'm...\n\nA clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\n(So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\n(So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n\nMy family customs were not accustomed to dealing with mental health\nIt was more or less an issue for white families with wealth\nVoid, I defected, employed self annoyed\nWent independent, enjoyed stealth\nNow doctors prescribed sedatives and Prozac\nThe rent's cheaper in the ghetto but you can't go back\nSo I, spin the cylinder on my revolver\nThen, maybe let it draw blood like Chupacabra\nAnd dissolve into the abyss, without evolving\nInstead of revolving around the habitual problem solver\nResearch like, George Washington Carver\nBut no answer so my mantra is to deal with it in and chart then\nPart, instead of being incredibly defiant\nPeddle through revenue issues I'll do it for medical science\nIt's better to be level-headed than to regret it and pious\nSettling for life without sun-shine, never vibrant, I'm...\n\nA clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\nSuspended within space and time\nI walk a thin line\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\nI can see through walls it's hard to climb\nI'm losing my- I'm losing my mind","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Losing My Mind (Feat. Denaun)\n  artist: Pharoahe Monch\n  album: P.T.S.D. (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder)\n  duration_ms: 197773\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  Suspended within space and time\n  I walk a thin line\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  I see through walls that's hard to climb\n  I'm losing my mind\n\n  No medicaid, no medication\n  Thinking you're better off dead\n  Instead should have been dedicated to education\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder\n  Would someone explain who'd leave a dick in charge of a bush\n  Of a colon I'm screwed, saw more war than Warsaw Poland, viewed\n  An infant's insides, outside of his body\n  Inside of a place of worship, ungodly\n  Out cries tears \"Dear God, where are we?\"\n  That's what I scream towards the skyline but probably\n  No one can hear a word of what I was saying\n  Insurgents surged in the temple where I was praying\n  Now flashbacks wake me abruptly when police pass by\n  Lights flash, if I could only put the past on a flashdrive I'd\n  For peace of mind, install an external drive\n  So I'd be more driven internally to survive I'm...\n\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  (So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  (So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n\n  My family customs were not accustomed to dealing with mental health\n  It was more or less an issue for white families with wealth\n  Void, I defected, employed self annoyed\n  Went independent, enjoyed stealth\n  Now doctors prescribed sedatives and Prozac\n  The rent's cheaper in the ghetto but you can't go back\n  So I, spin the cylinder on my revolver\n  Then, maybe let it draw blood like Chupacabra\n  And dissolve into the abyss, without evolving\n  Instead of revolving around the habitual problem solver\n  Research like, George Washington Carver\n  But no answer so my mantra is to deal with it in and chart then\n  Part, instead of being incredibly defiant\n  Peddle through revenue issues I'll do it for medical science\n  It's better to be level-headed than to regret it and pious\n  Settling for life without sun-shine, never vibrant, I'm...\n\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  Suspended within space and time\n  I walk a thin line\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  I can see through walls it's hard to climb\n  I'm losing my- I'm losing my mind\n"},{"id":34041963,"name":"Losing My Mind feat. Mr. Porter","trackName":"Losing My Mind feat. Mr. Porter","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch","albumName":"PTSD: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder","duration":198.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"A clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\nSuspended within space and time\nI walk a thin line\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\nI see through walls that's hard to climb\nI'm losing my mind\n\nNo medicaid, no medication\nThinking you're better off dead\nInstead should have been dedicated to education\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder\nWould someone explain who'd leave a dick in charge of a bush\nOf a colon I'm screwed, saw more war than Warsaw Poland, viewed\nAn infant's insides, outside of his body\nInside of a place of worship, ungodly\nOut cries tears \"Dear God, where are we?\"\nThat's what I scream towards the skyline but probably\nNo one can hear a word of what I was saying\nInsurgents surged in the temple where I was praying\nNow flashbacks wake me abruptly when police pass by\nLights flash, if I could only put the past on a flashdrive I'd\nFor peace of mind, install an external drive\nSo I'd be more driven internally to survive I'm...\n\nA clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\n(So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\n(So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n\nMy family customs were not accustomed to dealing with mental health\nIt was more or less an issue for white families with wealth\nVoid, I defected, employed self annoyed\nWent independent, enjoyed stealth\nNow doctors prescribed sedatives and Prozac\nThe rent's cheaper in the ghetto but you can't go back\nSo I, spin the cylinder on my revolver\nThen, maybe let it draw blood like Chupacabra\nAnd dissolve into the abyss, without evolving\nInstead of revolving around the habitual problem solver\nResearch like, George Washington Carver\nBut no answer so my mantra is to deal with it in and chart then\nPart, instead of being incredibly defiant\nPeddle through revenue issues I'll do it for medical science\nIt's better to be level-headed than to regret it and pious\nSettling for life without sun-shine, never vibrant, I'm...\n\nA clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\nSuspended within space and time\nI walk a thin line\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\nI can see through walls it's hard to climb\nI'm losing my- I'm losing my mind","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Losing My Mind feat. Mr. Porter\n  artist: Pharoahe Monch\n  album: 'PTSD: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder'\n  duration_ms: 198000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  Suspended within space and time\n  I walk a thin line\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  I see through walls that's hard to climb\n  I'm losing my mind\n\n  No medicaid, no medication\n  Thinking you're better off dead\n  Instead should have been dedicated to education\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder\n  Would someone explain who'd leave a dick in charge of a bush\n  Of a colon I'm screwed, saw more war than Warsaw Poland, viewed\n  An infant's insides, outside of his body\n  Inside of a place of worship, ungodly\n  Out cries tears \"Dear God, where are we?\"\n  That's what I scream towards the skyline but probably\n  No one can hear a word of what I was saying\n  Insurgents surged in the temple where I was praying\n  Now flashbacks wake me abruptly when police pass by\n  Lights flash, if I could only put the past on a flashdrive I'd\n  For peace of mind, install an external drive\n  So I'd be more driven internally to survive I'm...\n\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  (So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  (So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n\n  My family customs were not accustomed to dealing with mental health\n  It was more or less an issue for white families with wealth\n  Void, I defected, employed self annoyed\n  Went independent, enjoyed stealth\n  Now doctors prescribed sedatives and Prozac\n  The rent's cheaper in the ghetto but you can't go back\n  So I, spin the cylinder on my revolver\n  Then, maybe let it draw blood like Chupacabra\n  And dissolve into the abyss, without evolving\n  Instead of revolving around the habitual problem solver\n  Research like, George Washington Carver\n  But no answer so my mantra is to deal with it in and chart then\n  Part, instead of being incredibly defiant\n  Peddle through revenue issues I'll do it for medical science\n  It's better to be level-headed than to regret it and pious\n  Settling for life without sun-shine, never vibrant, I'm...\n\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  Suspended within space and time\n  I walk a thin line\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  I can see through walls it's hard to climb\n  I'm losing my- I'm losing my mind\n"},{"id":8310942,"name":"Losing My Mind","trackName":"Losing My Mind","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch feat. Denaun","albumName":"PTSD: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder","duration":198.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"A clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\nSuspended within space and time\nI walk a thin line\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\nI see through walls that's hard to climb\nI'm losing my mind\n\nNo medicaid, no medication\nThinking you're better off dead\nInstead should have been dedicated to education\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder\nWould someone explain who'd leave a dick in charge of a bush\nOf a colon I'm screwed, saw more war than Warsaw Poland, viewed\nAn infant's insides, outside of his body\nInside of a place of worship, ungodly\nOut cries tears \"Dear God, where are we?\"\nThat's what I scream towards the skyline but probably\nNo one can hear a word of what I was saying\nInsurgents surged in the temple where I was praying\nNow flashbacks wake me abruptly when police pass by\nLights flash, if I could only put the past on a flashdrive I'd\nFor peace of mind, install an external drive\nSo I'd be more driven internally to survive I'm...\n\nA clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\n(So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\n(So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n\nMy family customs were not accustomed to dealing with mental health\nIt was more or less an issue for white families with wealth\nVoid, I defected, employed self annoyed\nWent independent, enjoyed stealth\nNow doctors prescribed sedatives and Prozac\nThe rent's cheaper in the ghetto but you can't go back\nSo I, spin the cylinder on my revolver\nThen, maybe let it draw blood like Chupacabra\nAnd dissolve into the abyss, without evolving\nInstead of revolving around the habitual problem solver\nResearch like, George Washington Carver\nBut no answer so my mantra is to deal with it in and chart then\nPart, instead of being incredibly defiant\nPeddle through revenue issues I'll do it for medical science\nIt's better to be level-headed than to regret it and pious\nSettling for life without sun-shine, never vibrant, I'm...\n\nA clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\nSuspended within space and time\nI walk a thin line\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\nI can see through walls it's hard to climb\nI'm losing my- I'm losing my mind","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Losing My Mind\n  artist: Pharoahe Monch feat. Denaun\n  album: 'PTSD: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder'\n  duration_ms: 198000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  Suspended within space and time\n  I walk a thin line\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  I see through walls that's hard to climb\n  I'm losing my mind\n\n  No medicaid, no medication\n  Thinking you're better off dead\n  Instead should have been dedicated to education\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder\n  Would someone explain who'd leave a dick in charge of a bush\n  Of a colon I'm screwed, saw more war than Warsaw Poland, viewed\n  An infant's insides, outside of his body\n  Inside of a place of worship, ungodly\n  Out cries tears \"Dear God, where are we?\"\n  That's what I scream towards the skyline but probably\n  No one can hear a word of what I was saying\n  Insurgents surged in the temple where I was praying\n  Now flashbacks wake me abruptly when police pass by\n  Lights flash, if I could only put the past on a flashdrive I'd\n  For peace of mind, install an external drive\n  So I'd be more driven internally to survive I'm...\n\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  (So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  (So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n\n  My family customs were not accustomed to dealing with mental health\n  It was more or less an issue for white families with wealth\n  Void, I defected, employed self annoyed\n  Went independent, enjoyed stealth\n  Now doctors prescribed sedatives and Prozac\n  The rent's cheaper in the ghetto but you can't go back\n  So I, spin the cylinder on my revolver\n  Then, maybe let it draw blood like Chupacabra\n  And dissolve into the abyss, without evolving\n  Instead of revolving around the habitual problem solver\n  Research like, George Washington Carver\n  But no answer so my mantra is to deal with it in and chart then\n  Part, instead of being incredibly defiant\n  Peddle through revenue issues I'll do it for medical science\n  It's better to be level-headed than to regret it and pious\n  Settling for life without sun-shine, never vibrant, I'm...\n\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  Suspended within space and time\n  I walk a thin line\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  I can see through walls it's hard to climb\n  I'm losing my- I'm losing my mind\n"},{"id":11322779,"name":"Losing My Mind","trackName":"Losing My Mind","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch feat. Porter, Mr.","albumName":"PTSD: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder","duration":198.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"A clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\nSuspended within space and time\nI walk a thin line\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\nI see through walls that's hard to climb\nI'm losing my mind\n\nNo medicaid, no medication\nThinking you're better off dead\nInstead should have been dedicated to education\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder\nWould someone explain who'd leave a dick in charge of a bush\nOf a colon I'm screwed, saw more war than Warsaw Poland, viewed\nAn infant's insides, outside of his body\nInside of a place of worship, ungodly\nOut cries tears \"Dear God, where are we?\"\nThat's what I scream towards the skyline but probably\nNo one can hear a word of what I was saying\nInsurgents surged in the temple where I was praying\nNow flashbacks wake me abruptly when police pass by\nLights flash, if I could only put the past on a flashdrive I'd\nFor peace of mind, install an external drive\nSo I'd be more driven internally to survive I'm...\n\nA clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\n(So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\n(So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n\nMy family customs were not accustomed to dealing with mental health\nIt was more or less an issue for white families with wealth\nVoid, I defected, employed self annoyed\nWent independent, enjoyed stealth\nNow doctors prescribed sedatives and Prozac\nThe rent's cheaper in the ghetto but you can't go back\nSo I, spin the cylinder on my revolver\nThen, maybe let it draw blood like Chupacabra\nAnd dissolve into the abyss, without evolving\nInstead of revolving around the habitual problem solver\nResearch like, George Washington Carver\nBut no answer so my mantra is to deal with it in and chart then\nPart, instead of being incredibly defiant\nPeddle through revenue issues I'll do it for medical science\nIt's better to be level-headed than to regret it and pious\nSettling for life without sun-shine, never vibrant, I'm...\n\nA clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\nSuspended within space and time\nI walk a thin line\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\nI can see through walls it's hard to climb\nI'm losing my- I'm losing my mind","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Losing My Mind\n  artist: Pharoahe Monch feat. Porter, Mr.\n  album: 'PTSD: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder'\n  duration_ms: 198000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  Suspended within space and time\n  I walk a thin line\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  I see through walls that's hard to climb\n  I'm losing my mind\n\n  No medicaid, no medication\n  Thinking you're better off dead\n  Instead should have been dedicated to education\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder\n  Would someone explain who'd leave a dick in charge of a bush\n  Of a colon I'm screwed, saw more war than Warsaw Poland, viewed\n  An infant's insides, outside of his body\n  Inside of a place of worship, ungodly\n  Out cries tears \"Dear God, where are we?\"\n  That's what I scream towards the skyline but probably\n  No one can hear a word of what I was saying\n  Insurgents surged in the temple where I was praying\n  Now flashbacks wake me abruptly when police pass by\n  Lights flash, if I could only put the past on a flashdrive I'd\n  For peace of mind, install an external drive\n  So I'd be more driven internally to survive I'm...\n\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  (So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  (So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n\n  My family customs were not accustomed to dealing with mental health\n  It was more or less an issue for white families with wealth\n  Void, I defected, employed self annoyed\n  Went independent, enjoyed stealth\n  Now doctors prescribed sedatives and Prozac\n  The rent's cheaper in the ghetto but you can't go back\n  So I, spin the cylinder on my revolver\n  Then, maybe let it draw blood like Chupacabra\n  And dissolve into the abyss, without evolving\n  Instead of revolving around the habitual problem solver\n  Research like, George Washington Carver\n  But no answer so my mantra is to deal with it in and chart then\n  Part, instead of being incredibly defiant\n  Peddle through revenue issues I'll do it for medical science\n  It's better to be level-headed than to regret it and pious\n  Settling for life without sun-shine, never vibrant, I'm...\n\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  Suspended within space and time\n  I walk a thin line\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  I can see through walls it's hard to climb\n  I'm losing my- I'm losing my mind\n"},{"id":10231364,"name":"Losing My Mind","trackName":"Losing My Mind","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch feat. Mr. Porter","albumName":"PTSD: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder","duration":197.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"A clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\nSuspended within space and time\nI walk a thin line\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\nI see through walls that's hard to climb\nI'm losing my mind\n\nNo medicaid, no medication\nThinking you're better off dead\nInstead should have been dedicated to education\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder\nWould someone explain who'd leave a dick in charge of a bush\nOf a colon I'm screwed, saw more war than Warsaw Poland, viewed\nAn infant's insides, outside of his body\nInside of a place of worship, ungodly\nOut cries tears \"Dear God, where are we?\"\nThat's what I scream towards the skyline but probably\nNo one can hear a word of what I was saying\nInsurgents surged in the temple where I was praying\nNow flashbacks wake me abruptly when police pass by\nLights flash, if I could only put the past on a flashdrive I'd\nFor peace of mind, install an external drive\nSo I'd be more driven internally to survive I'm...\n\nA clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\n(So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\n(So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n\nMy family customs were not accustomed to dealing with mental health\nIt was more or less an issue for white families with wealth\nVoid, I defected, employed self annoyed\nWent independent, enjoyed stealth\nNow doctors prescribed sedatives and Prozac\nThe rent's cheaper in the ghetto but you can't go back\nSo I, spin the cylinder on my revolver\nThen, maybe let it draw blood like Chupacabra\nAnd dissolve into the abyss, without evolving\nInstead of revolving around the habitual problem solver\nResearch like, George Washington Carver\nBut no answer so my mantra is to deal with it in and chart then\nPart, instead of being incredibly defiant\nPeddle through revenue issues I'll do it for medical science\nIt's better to be level-headed than to regret it and pious\nSettling for life without sun-shine, never vibrant, I'm...\n\nA clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\nSuspended within space and time\nI walk a thin line\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\nI can see through walls it's hard to climb\nI'm losing my- I'm losing my mind","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Losing My Mind\n  artist: Pharoahe Monch feat. Mr. Porter\n  album: 'PTSD: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder'\n  duration_ms: 197000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  Suspended within space and time\n  I walk a thin line\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  I see through walls that's hard to climb\n  I'm losing my mind\n\n  No medicaid, no medication\n  Thinking you're better off dead\n  Instead should have been dedicated to education\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder\n  Would someone explain who'd leave a dick in charge of a bush\n  Of a colon I'm screwed, saw more war than Warsaw Poland, viewed\n  An infant's insides, outside of his body\n  Inside of a place of worship, ungodly\n  Out cries tears \"Dear God, where are we?\"\n  That's what I scream towards the skyline but probably\n  No one can hear a word of what I was saying\n  Insurgents surged in the temple where I was praying\n  Now flashbacks wake me abruptly when police pass by\n  Lights flash, if I could only put the past on a flashdrive I'd\n  For peace of mind, install an external drive\n  So I'd be more driven internally to survive I'm...\n\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  (So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  (So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n\n  My family customs were not accustomed to dealing with mental health\n  It was more or less an issue for white families with wealth\n  Void, I defected, employed self annoyed\n  Went independent, enjoyed stealth\n  Now doctors prescribed sedatives and Prozac\n  The rent's cheaper in the ghetto but you can't go back\n  So I, spin the cylinder on my revolver\n  Then, maybe let it draw blood like Chupacabra\n  And dissolve into the abyss, without evolving\n  Instead of revolving around the habitual problem solver\n  Research like, George Washington Carver\n  But no answer so my mantra is to deal with it in and chart then\n  Part, instead of being incredibly defiant\n  Peddle through revenue issues I'll do it for medical science\n  It's better to be level-headed than to regret it and pious\n  Settling for life without sun-shine, never vibrant, I'm...\n\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  Suspended within space and time\n  I walk a thin line\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  I can see through walls it's hard to climb\n  I'm losing my- I'm losing my mind\n"},{"id":27219876,"name":"Losing My Mind","trackName":"Losing My Mind","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch feat. Denaun Porter","albumName":"PTSD: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder","duration":197.773061,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"A clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\nSuspended within space and time\nI walk a thin line\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\nI see through walls that's hard to climb\nI'm losing my mind\n\nNo medicaid, no medication\nThinking you're better off dead\nInstead should have been dedicated to education\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder\nWould someone explain who'd leave a dick in charge of a bush\nOf a colon I'm screwed, saw more war than Warsaw Poland, viewed\nAn infant's insides, outside of his body\nInside of a place of worship, ungodly\nOut cries tears \"Dear God, where are we?\"\nThat's what I scream towards the skyline but probably\nNo one can hear a word of what I was saying\nInsurgents surged in the temple where I was praying\nNow flashbacks wake me abruptly when police pass by\nLights flash, if I could only put the past on a flashdrive I'd\nFor peace of mind, install an external drive\nSo I'd be more driven internally to survive I'm...\n\nA clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\n(So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\n(So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n\nMy family customs were not accustomed to dealing with mental health\nIt was more or less an issue for white families with wealth\nVoid, I defected, employed self annoyed\nWent independent, enjoyed stealth\nNow doctors prescribed sedatives and Prozac\nThe rent's cheaper in the ghetto but you can't go back\nSo I, spin the cylinder on my revolver\nThen, maybe let it draw blood like Chupacabra\nAnd dissolve into the abyss, without evolving\nInstead of revolving around the habitual problem solver\nResearch like, George Washington Carver\nBut no answer so my mantra is to deal with it in and chart then\nPart, instead of being incredibly defiant\nPeddle through revenue issues I'll do it for medical science\nIt's better to be level-headed than to regret it and pious\nSettling for life without sun-shine, never vibrant, I'm...\n\nA clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\nSuspended within space and time\nI walk a thin line\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\nI can see through walls it's hard to climb\nI'm losing my- I'm losing my mind","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Losing My Mind\n  artist: Pharoahe Monch feat. Denaun Porter\n  album: 'PTSD: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder'\n  duration_ms: 197773\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  Suspended within space and time\n  I walk a thin line\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  I see through walls that's hard to climb\n  I'm losing my mind\n\n  No medicaid, no medication\n  Thinking you're better off dead\n  Instead should have been dedicated to education\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder\n  Would someone explain who'd leave a dick in charge of a bush\n  Of a colon I'm screwed, saw more war than Warsaw Poland, viewed\n  An infant's insides, outside of his body\n  Inside of a place of worship, ungodly\n  Out cries tears \"Dear God, where are we?\"\n  That's what I scream towards the skyline but probably\n  No one can hear a word of what I was saying\n  Insurgents surged in the temple where I was praying\n  Now flashbacks wake me abruptly when police pass by\n  Lights flash, if I could only put the past on a flashdrive I'd\n  For peace of mind, install an external drive\n  So I'd be more driven internally to survive I'm...\n\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  (So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  (So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n\n  My family customs were not accustomed to dealing with mental health\n  It was more or less an issue for white families with wealth\n  Void, I defected, employed self annoyed\n  Went independent, enjoyed stealth\n  Now doctors prescribed sedatives and Prozac\n  The rent's cheaper in the ghetto but you can't go back\n  So I, spin the cylinder on my revolver\n  Then, maybe let it draw blood like Chupacabra\n  And dissolve into the abyss, without evolving\n  Instead of revolving around the habitual problem solver\n  Research like, George Washington Carver\n  But no answer so my mantra is to deal with it in and chart then\n  Part, instead of being incredibly defiant\n  Peddle through revenue issues I'll do it for medical science\n  It's better to be level-headed than to regret it and pious\n  Settling for life without sun-shine, never vibrant, I'm...\n\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  Suspended within space and time\n  I walk a thin line\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  I can see through walls it's hard to climb\n  I'm losing my- I'm losing my mind\n"},{"id":8310941,"name":"Losing My Mind (feat. dEnAuN)","trackName":"Losing My Mind (feat. dEnAuN)","artistName":"Pharoahe Monch feat. dEnAuN","albumName":"PTSD - Post Traumatic Stress Disorder","duration":198.0,"instrumental":false,"hasWordSync":false,"plainLyrics":"A clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\nSuspended within space and time\nI walk a thin line\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\nI see through walls that's hard to climb\nI'm losing my mind\n\nNo medicaid, no medication\nThinking you're better off dead\nInstead should have been dedicated to education\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder\nWould someone explain who'd leave a dick in charge of a bush\nOf a colon I'm screwed, saw more war than Warsaw Poland, viewed\nAn infant's insides, outside of his body\nInside of a place of worship, ungodly\nOut cries tears \"Dear God, where are we?\"\nThat's what I scream towards the skyline but probably\nNo one can hear a word of what I was saying\nInsurgents surged in the temple where I was praying\nNow flashbacks wake me abruptly when police pass by\nLights flash, if I could only put the past on a flashdrive I'd\nFor peace of mind, install an external drive\nSo I'd be more driven internally to survive I'm...\n\nA clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\n(So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\n(So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\nI spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n\nMy family customs were not accustomed to dealing with mental health\nIt was more or less an issue for white families with wealth\nVoid, I defected, employed self annoyed\nWent independent, enjoyed stealth\nNow doctors prescribed sedatives and Prozac\nThe rent's cheaper in the ghetto but you can't go back\nSo I, spin the cylinder on my revolver\nThen, maybe let it draw blood like Chupacabra\nAnd dissolve into the abyss, without evolving\nInstead of revolving around the habitual problem solver\nResearch like, George Washington Carver\nBut no answer so my mantra is to deal with it in and chart then\nPart, instead of being incredibly defiant\nPeddle through revenue issues I'll do it for medical science\nIt's better to be level-headed than to regret it and pious\nSettling for life without sun-shine, never vibrant, I'm...\n\nA clock without a minute hand\nAn hourglass without sand\nSuspended within space and time\nI walk a thin line\nAmongst the masses all alone\nA furnished house with no one home\nI can see through walls it's hard to climb\nI'm losing my- I'm losing my mind","syncedLyrics":null,"lyricsfile":"version: '1.0'\nmetadata:\n  title: Losing My Mind (feat. dEnAuN)\n  artist: Pharoahe Monch feat. dEnAuN\n  album: PTSD - Post Traumatic Stress Disorder\n  duration_ms: 198000\n  instrumental: false\nlines: []\nplain: |-\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  Suspended within space and time\n  I walk a thin line\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  I see through walls that's hard to climb\n  I'm losing my mind\n\n  No medicaid, no medication\n  Thinking you're better off dead\n  Instead should have been dedicated to education\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder\n  Would someone explain who'd leave a dick in charge of a bush\n  Of a colon I'm screwed, saw more war than Warsaw Poland, viewed\n  An infant's insides, outside of his body\n  Inside of a place of worship, ungodly\n  Out cries tears \"Dear God, where are we?\"\n  That's what I scream towards the skyline but probably\n  No one can hear a word of what I was saying\n  Insurgents surged in the temple where I was praying\n  Now flashbacks wake me abruptly when police pass by\n  Lights flash, if I could only put the past on a flashdrive I'd\n  For peace of mind, install an external drive\n  So I'd be more driven internally to survive I'm...\n\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  (So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  (So I spin, the cylinder on my revolver\n  I spin, the cylinder on my revolver)\n\n  My family customs were not accustomed to dealing with mental health\n  It was more or less an issue for white families with wealth\n  Void, I defected, employed self annoyed\n  Went independent, enjoyed stealth\n  Now doctors prescribed sedatives and Prozac\n  The rent's cheaper in the ghetto but you can't go back\n  So I, spin the cylinder on my revolver\n  Then, maybe let it draw blood like Chupacabra\n  And dissolve into the abyss, without evolving\n  Instead of revolving around the habitual problem solver\n  Research like, George Washington Carver\n  But no answer so my mantra is to deal with it in and chart then\n  Part, instead of being incredibly defiant\n  Peddle through revenue issues I'll do it for medical science\n  It's better to be level-headed than to regret it and pious\n  Settling for life without sun-shine, never vibrant, I'm...\n\n  A clock without a minute hand\n  An hourglass without sand\n  Suspended within space and time\n  I walk a thin line\n  Amongst the masses all alone\n  A furnished house with no one home\n  I can see through walls it's hard to climb\n  I'm losing my- I'm losing my mind\n"}]