The mark of this humidity is sinking through a curve
The mornings gone and past and then returned
And are you running out? I’m forever sunning down
Past rows of all the hidden wells we’ve crowned
Your bearings drift away
And all that’s left is cyclical
No one can take the place
So sharp and then unmoving I can barely read the leaves
Are you diving through the forest or the trees?
But as the day is long your soldier marches on
The way you’re racking your own mind you won’t be far
Your bearings drift away
And all that’s left is cyclical
No one can take the place
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