It's a early rise
|
His teeth are furred
|
And cleanse with hands to hunt and hold
|
The sun divides
|
Imagined leaves
|
A shelter while I sleep
|
|
There are many years
|
To cloud my mind
|
But no burden
|
It's heavy like a tipping load
|
|
Early day
|
On a bloodied patch
|
Only noise and brick surround
|
Tradition sinks
|
In the soil here
|
As a rock is swallowed in the mud
|
|
The polluted skin
|
Of my brittle earth
|
It keeps the bleeding at bay
|
|
This syrup sweet and thick to exchange me
|
My spirit has rearranged
|
Crippled, dampened, lame
|
|
As it goes
|
The syrup fills my eyes
|
The days faces fade to black
|
And I don't feel
|
And I can't fight
|
For my home anymore
|
Anymore
|
|
And I return to an open land
|
Where bloods blanket shielded me
|
|
This syrup sweet and thick to exchange me
|
My spirit has rearranged
|
Crippled, dampened, lame
|
|
-----------------
|
This Syrup To Exchange
|
| Powderfinger |
