And if all these seeds can make it then why can't I?
Just floating through the wind without a single plight.
They'll be done and buried by the morning's first light.
In a hundred years be as tall as a city sky line.
Dust goes flying as we punish this dirt road.
Headed out to nowhere as we traverse this world.
And there's a scarecrow out in lonely field with a crow perched on each of his arms as the rest of the murder destroys the corn.
Leaves are racked in piles just like last fall.
Piles set on fire filling us all with smoke.
Choke and cough the life out all the colors are gone.
They won't come back again until next fall.
A season full of death but it's still the best of all.
all rights reserved