Thunder on the inside, when the sun shines all around…

Oh, well its common after all, that the soil kills the cane.

Come what may, I’ll be loving. Come what may, I’ve been blessed.

Truth is we’re ruthless, and toothless, and brutal, and we know it all too well because we do it politely..

I’m over the notion we’re wasting time, we are the infancy of a turning tide.

I’m a stranger here, conversations in the grass, and a howling at the moon..

Lets saddle up now for the dark horse parade.

Run, my dear, go run, keep the heaviness dry

Its monochrome in my paradise.