I prune trees until they bleed,
cut until I look well achieved
I braid a mask of leaves
Fight to find the balance in between
the expectations and conditions,
melt two blades into one
There is line, a mark where mist turns to clouds
When I find it I'll place a cut, split my spine in half
There is a hook on which a rope to me is tied
When I find it I'll cut myself loose.
For seven years in spheres of glass, aiming reflections in to dust, we've emptied our trust
Will a kid dare to trust his visions if no one tells him that he can, undrape jewels in his eyes.
There is line, a mark where mist turns to clouds
When I find it I'll place a cut, split my spine in half
There is a hook on which a rope to me is tied
When I find it I'll cut myself loose
We're cold, lone and deceitful to our kind,
estranged wild dogs left behind, hunting reflections of the sun.
I Prune trees until they bleed,
cut until I look well achieved
I braid a mask of leaves