We grow fields of wine
And we grow wastes of time
And thousands upon thousands upon thousands of rhymes
Pass through my mind
Oh we lose sharpness in our breath
Oh we know nobody has to have it yet
I'm a purified being with certified seeing eyes
Upon your disguise
I know your lie
I know your lie
We have weight on our chest
And we haven't gotten around to it yet
But the burn on the back of the wrist hasn't
Fixed us to a T, we all don't see.
We laugh a lot about our petty shit
And we can't believe we're tired from it
Cause irony is a lie,
We're all fired up from the high.
We shake fists at trees
And we arm our kisses to the teeth
One's volley of words is another's bad curse
How would you like to have to rehearse everything?