On the flats The fever yields There isn't any wisdom left I'll build a barn and watch it mold How sulfur sours Greenland's breath
I thought the elders leaning in Had maps, kinetics, ancient bole But now I see their wooden faces Moaning Lined with dusk and pale Beholden to an early song Still coiled on the rotten mother's meal
And as the pine becomes the snag The evening widens Clear Unkind
Don't leave me on the flats The fever yields There isn't any wisdom left I'll build a barn and watch it mold How sulfur sours Greenland's breathTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
