Converse from Rounding Error by Cantalouper

If I compete I’ll be exposed
Entrapped inside a story problem
Only attempts it measures might fail
So enslave me to the blind side

Once in my triumph so composed
It’s all enigma, it’s their problem
When they choke too young
They’ll never make martyrs for the downside

The one and only sons who faltered at oblivion
Just can’t count their birthdays, can’t help but remind
The won and orange sons whose converse kingdom comes
In blown out birthday candles, smoke and wax enshrines

I am not important, service with a smile
Offered open handed, no reflexive bile
Celebrate their parties, seating chart degrees
Let me lay my trophies at the throne and be

The champion, the champion
The champion, the champion

Shamefaced by commandment, airtight pardon me’s
Anecdotes of insults, worn biographies
I am not important, just like those who’ve won
Highest of conversions, conquered champion

The champion, the champion
The champion, the champion
The champion, the champion
The champion, the champion

The champion, the champion, the champion, the champion

• Rock
• alternative rock
• new wave
• post-punk
• shoegaze
• slowcore
• Columbia