I toil in dying dirt that's all but fated (faded)
Wrapping calloused hands around the stalks of weeds
In an attempt to prevent what’s anticipated
But the roots are much too deep (And my hands are much too weak)
They say you reap what you sow
But see my scythe is dull now
And I’m getting tangled up in growth
So I’ll wear this thorned crown
And with every blow of the wind it spreads their seeds
Unto the dying dirt from which it feeds
Nourished only with the blood, sweat, and tears
Spread from countless half-forgotten memories of what’s to come
My body lie elsewhere
Restless in a bed of broken mirrors
I catch a glimpse of something called self-reflection
I’d like to look away but that burning image is staring me right in the eyes
They say you reap what you sow
But see my scythe is dull now
And I’m getting tangled up in growth
So I’ll wear this thorned crown
And with every blow of the wind it spreads their seeds
Unto the dying dirt from which it feeds
Nourished only with the blood, sweat, and tears
Spread from countless half-forgotten memories of what’s to come
So sharpen your blade and hurry up
I'm getting quite impossible to cut
And I know you'd like to get out
And this fire in my lungs
Is venting the smoke off of my tongue
Just to suffocate us all
And I know I'll survive this drought
But I have more than an itching doubt
That you won't make it out of here alive
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