Benign Summers

Eve of the fall, if I believed I could see all:
The disease-free, the happy, sprawled out in fields
Of benign summers. I concede

Deep in the mines of every drilling why,
The dream lie's all tied up in our bleak messiahs
And ghost drummers of seasons gone

It's time to heed the flow of time and drift below
It's time to ease the pulse and let go

Refried dry fall times, steroid-burger suicides,
Newts' cries and crushed flies and sweat-burned eye lines
Of an acid bummer. . . . I concede

Deep in the wild, out of reach of the child's hand,
Belief's scrapped and piled as we breach all the miles spanned
By distance runners of seasons to come

It's time to feed the flow, refine a place to grow,
Deny what we've been told and what we know
It's time to let it go, to purge what we control
Benign summers pulse just below

Try and fight the cold



Credits
Writer(s): Steve Chanin
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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