Oh, [?] at bricks
The root does well
Bout anywhere she pleased

Crack at the trail
Running throughout the parlor
With the tripping legs

You reach like vines
Wishing you were the river
Coming out and away

Just like those bees
Swarming their death place
Covering the heights
Covering the heights
It's [?], it should be

You close her eyes
And didn't get back this
Pouring out to the shack

You kill your [?]
After she realized
It's not there
It's not there