Can the birds sense desolation above my town?
Winter cornfields like broken bones
I'm trying to lose my country accent
Through the great distance between places
Dreams of being an anarchist
On top of dreams never being fulfilled
I used to fight for my way of life
Against people arguing if plants feel pain
And sloping themselves like roofs
How am I supposed to live in apathy?
This is why the streets look so plain
And why I walk around with chunk taken out of my side
Now I feel I don't need to be part of something
I just want to know things go on without me
Because the world won't live how I want them to
Watching the levels of those ancient bottles
That have told me so much
And formed my strange posture