real roads lay in

they try to get you playing

but you know it's gonna need your time

well keep it out of your mind

it's something made up in a mean mad mould

and the while it takes to wiggle's

gonna weaken you whole why

if you're mimicking the moon right just

scared of stepping down the south sides

it's a feather or a fence i'm

feeling every sound intensify

fast down the figure

seeking something sweeter

see the vultures sweeping through the window pane

nothing new nor sad nor strange

just the way the sky thrives

fly on vultures feed on every final

they play a fickle kind of game