Текст песни
Bringin' a bowl of pepper, sand, and salt
Get off at dawn
Diggin' a hole, fill it with tinder and coal
Precious time on your own
We light the lantern
A slumber dancer takes a form
Perfect location, site observation
In a song
Maybe I come home Monday
Whatever works
Lips, fists, a mouthful of words
New utensils
Think of the season like a poem
Grass, leaves, and tree
It's not up to me anymore
Maybe I come home Monday
Whatever works
Lips, fists, a mouthful of words
They're always hungry
I might just spare some strikin' clouds
We bend our routine
Be nice to me before you're gone
Maybe I come home Monday
Whatever works
Lips, fists, a mouthful of words
West coast is the best coast
We feast in the east
Pull up a skirt
Grind the beast