| Away from the days which embrace us like shells
|
| The making of ones that can wander by chance
|
| The fathers that left us behind baby elms
|
| And others that’re taking their own little stances
|
| Buckets of rain pepper-trees in toy cups
|
| Sprouting their little necks like turtles
|
| Right off the train got smothered by a word lapse
|
| Wrapped up my silly heart in curtains
|
| Away from the days which embrace us like shells
|
| The making of ones that can wander by chance
|
| The fathers that left us behind baby elms
|
| And others that’re taking their own little stances
|
| Chasing up days sinking down with pauses
|
| These rhyming silences of summer
|
| Following trains and handful of our causes
|
| Leave them on tape, so no one finds them
|
| Sprouting their little necks like turtles
|
| Wrapped up my little heart in curtains
|
| Make sure to hide it, well I’m certain
|
| The rhyming silences of summer
|
| Leave them on tape, so no one finds them
|
| Hide them, so no one ever finds them
|
| I’ll follow you just point the way
|
| Along the river made of clay
|
| The oozing clouds they’ll be our mom
|
| To lead the way and chase a storm
|
| We swallow handful bits of sand
|
| To learn how ocean sinks the land
|
| And crack our muteness like an egs
|
| Let it get carried out by clegs |