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Gracious Being, Literal Innocense
Rich Mans' fever, anchor me in deeply
Love like Native Americans, mostly fire-water induced trances
Ill-fated social gatherings, bring me happiness, bring me peace
Take me back to where meaning meant nothing
Where I could charm the evil snake
and shake their hands for goodness sake
The Reaper puts on makeup, adding wrinkles here and there
strips us of our self adoration and replaces it with grey hair
If I could plaster my face into concrete
so the world could see I truly existed
I could show them all the life i lived
and make them all regret they missed it
