At this point in my life,
i feel the need
to harverst
these fields of corn
that surround.
My harvest lost
at the price of maturity.
But these remains
that I've left to rot
will be resurrected
again and again (x4)
by the next generation
of children who want to change minds
with the stationed hand.
But I'm not the only one who sees
it lies in diversity;
acceptance
only to a degree.
The fire that once occupied my eyes
has crawled to destroy
the world that I have grown.
There's nothing new to scream
beyond these fields
and not a second of patience
to learn from them.
But you're Resurected
again and again (x4)
again and again (x4)
I harvest the crops of my past.
As far as the demigods
are concerned,
I've sold myself out,
out just the same.
I've burned the bridges
to feign brothers.
Nothing
Nothing more than a simple label,
nothing more than a simple.
Here I reside, the edge after all
to prove to myself that i still am,
but within these fields,
they'll say
I never was.
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