Sumac

She's an empty wind farmer
Harnessing the lower Great Lakes
Waiting for someone to return back to it

She searches for a core
Then takes it out back to bury it
With discarded dreams of restlessness

She's a spiritualist, a survivalist
And she's under the impression
That the dead will call her name

She climbs the sumac like a jungle gym
And she hangs there like a sloth
Until the tide comes in
Then she opens her eyes
And draws her last breath
And considers any options
That may be better than this

She's so tired



Credits
Writer(s): Kevin Kless, Michael Kinsella
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

Link